You Had One Job, Mr Lovejoy!
by Teobi
Summary: Spicer Lovejoy was a loyal manservant but something was missing from his life. Just like Rose, he found brief freedom by getting drunk in Third Class and partying 'til dawn. Then Titanic hit an iceberg and Lovejoy was forced to change his ways or die. With the help of Rose and his old enemy Jack, Lovejoy survives the sinking and embarks on a journey of self-discovery.
1. I Want To Break Free

**You Had One Job, Mr. Lovejoy!**

Cal Hockley had sent him on yet another wild goose chase after the girl. Fair enough he was being paid, but Spicer Lovejoy thought there were better things to be doing on this marvellous ship than tracking down a seventeen year old flibbertigibbet and her third class gutter rat for the hundredth time in two days.

A long and somewhat glittering career with the Pinkerton Detective Agency meant that even a six foot two brooding giant of a man such as he was able to sneak around in the shadows like a pro, but tonight he just couldn't be arsed. He went down the stairs into third class, wishing he'd never met Nathan Hockley. Perhaps he'd be living in a nice little retirement cottage by now, except he wasn't old enough for retirement and he still enjoyed the thrill of the chase and being a sneaky bastard. He also liked the feel of money in his hands and his trusty Colt nestling under his armpit. They gave him a kind of swagger, put cold steel in his eyes and added an inch or two to his already impressive height. He had been quite a rake in his younger years, he liked to think he still had it, even though his erstwhile blond hair was rapidly turning grey and he couldn't remember the last time he smiled.

Third class was even more raucous and smelly than he'd expected. He'd been part of that dirty street life many years ago, and he'd been glad to get out of there. But that teeming underworld was never very far away, with its imbecilic inhabitants always shouting, laughing and getting drunk, and here they were, doing just that, with their fiddledy-diddledy music, leaping around like lunatics, they'd dance right to the ends of the earth before falling off and even then they'd still be gyrating madly. It was all so... _undignified._ The only time Lovejoy approved of dancing was when he put a few bullets under someone's feet.

Either way, he wasn't in the mood for the chase tonight, which is why he didn't bother to conceal himself. And that was to be his undoing- or his salvation, depending on how you looked at it.

Lovejoy was barely at the bottom of the stairs before he was noticed. A gaggle of slovenly women huddled nearby. One of them had the audacity to whistle at him. He fixed her with a stern glare but that only encouraged her, and made her scrofulous friends join in.

"What have we got here, girls?"

"I do believe it's one o' them toffs from upstairs."

"Ain't that the way? They spit on us in public but behind closed doors they're all after a piece of the action."

They laughed dirtily.

Lovejoy tried to get past them but they stood in his way.

"Won't you have a snifter, my love?"

"Move, you miserable wench," Lovejoy snarled.

"Ooh, he's a live one!"

One of them touched his smart jacket. "Very posh," she said. Lovejoy pulled his arm back but there was no avoiding her grubby fingers plucking at his sleeve.

"Look, if you don't get out of my way... "

The women challenged him. "You'll do what?"

Men were beginning to gather behind them. Lovejoy's cool blue eyes assessed the growing situation.

"I... er... "

They began laughing. "Get this man a drink," someone said. "Let's loosen him up a bit."

Lovejoy thought about elbowing his way through the crowd until his eyes fell on Miss Rose DeWitt Bukater with her red curls unpinned and flying, being whirled around by that scruffy little vagabond who was trying to cuckold his master. Looks like he'd tracked her down already. He breathed a sigh of relief. His work was done- all he had to do was turn around and head back to First Class where the people were clean and spoke in elegant whispers and the music didn't blow your eardrums inwards.

A glass of something was thrust into his hand.

"Drink up, sir. This'll put some fire in ya."

Lovejoy peered at the opaque, colourless liquid as though it were acid. "No, thank you."

"Ah, go on. Drink up."

"I said... no."

The women were pressing in on him, with their menfolk close behind.

"Go on, go on _go on_!"

They were starting to chant, rhythmically and loudly. Lovejoy was afraid he would be rumbled. Miss Rose and her bit of rough were still oblivious to his presence and he wanted to keep it that way. He lifted the glass, held his breath, and knocked it back in one.

The crowd cheered. Another drink swiftly followed. Lovejoy knocked it back. Surely that would appease the baying mob and they'd let him go now.

"Two on the trot!" someone laughed. "The man's tougher than he looks!"

Lovejoy felt mildly insulted but whatever he'd just drunk, it was beginning to seep into every pore, every extremity, even to the follicles of his hair. Heat flowed outwards from his core, disengaging his shoulder joints, making his neck floppy. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching for another glass of this amazing magic potion. The crowd swelled around him, jostling him and slapping him on the back. Cheers went up.

"He's one of us now!"

On the dancefloor, Rose and Jack finally noticed the commotion. The music went on, but Rose stopped dead, her hand on Jack's arm until he stopped dancing too.

Rose went pale. "It's that undertaker of a manservant," she said quietly, in shock. "Cal must have sent him after me- again!"

Jack swept hair out of his eyes. He was still panting with exertion from all the dancing, still happy and laughing.

"Jack! This is serious!"

"Rose, look at him! He's drunk!"

Rose looked again. Lovejoy was knocking back another drink, his hair hanging over his forehead, tie pulled loose, being shoved around and grabbed by cheering women.

Her mouth fell open. Jack put his finger under her chin to close it.

The crowd pulled Lovejoy towards the dance floor. Frightened, Rose darted behind Jack.

"Relax, Rose, I don't think there's much he can do in that state."

"Really? He carries a gun, Jack. There's no telling what he might do."

Someone signalled the band and they launched into the fastest thing they knew how to play. Women yanked Lovejoy onto the dancefloor, winking at their menfolk. One of them came over and nudged Rose in the ribs.

"Got another of your kind down here now," she cackled.

"He's nothing to do with me," Rose muttered, still clinging to Jack's shoulders. But just at that moment, Lovejoy stared at them both and flung his arms wide.

"Miss Rose! How _lovely_ to see you!"

Everyone laughed but Rose, whose heart sank. "What have they done to him?"

Jack laughed. "Filled him with poitín, I think."

Rose was baffled. "Po-cheen?"

"Irish moonshine," said Jack with a wink. "The best kind!"

From that moment on, there was no keeping Lovejoy off the dancefloor. He grasped Rose's hand and twirled her around and attempted some sort of polka. Then he let go and grabbed someone else. Men, women, children, he danced with them all. And he laughed. Lovejoy laughed for the first time in years, proper, hearty laughter straight from the gut.

The drinks flowed. Lovejoy toasted Rose and Jack, eliciting mad giggles from the crowd. Rose stared at him, her eyes wide. If Cal heard him say that!

The floor filled with dancers and admirers of Spicer Lovejoy who thought he was the funniest thing on two legs. Lovejoy felt it rude to refuse all the drinks that came his way, and all the kisses planted on his cheeks by women of all ages. He didn't care if they were making fun of him. At some point in the evening their mocking gave way to genuine delight as they honestly began enjoying his company. He even surprised himself- he hadn't felt this carefree since he was a teenager.

As Lovejoy began attempting an Irish jig, his jacket flapped open and suddenly Jack saw the shoulder holster and a gleam of cold steel. A few people gasped. Jack went over and put his hand on Lovejoy's arm. Lovejoy thought he was being asked to dance and swept Jack up in some moves that Jack could only describe as 'horse with broken leg tries to run across hot coals'. In the middle of it, Jack managed to grab the gun out of the holster and hand it to one of the larger and more trustworthy steerage passengers.

"He can have it back later," said Jack. "When he's sobered up."

The man guffawed knowingly. " _If_ he sobers up!"

The gun disappeared from sight and now they were all safe from Lovejoy firing any celebratory shots into the ceiling. Not that he was going to do that, but one never knew with these ex-Pinkertons. Lovejoy had helped to stop union riots at Hockley Steel, he was handy with a gun and that was what kept people wary of him.

But now he was completely unarmed, and he didn't even notice.

The party raved on. Jack and Lovejoy made friends, the two of them and Rose danced in a triangle. Rose had never felt happier. She had her Jack, and now she had Cal's bodyguard on her side. She felt invincible, determined to enjoy the feeling while it lasted. Pure love radiated from every corner of steerage from people who didn't judge each other unkindly, people who knew how hard life was and celebrated every minute of fun that came their way in case it never came again. She danced and danced, from one partner to another, buoyed up on a sea of smiles. And Lovejoy... had anyone ever told him he had the most beautiful smile? It was a shame he didn't do it more often. It _transformed_ him. It also made her realise he'd been a person in his own right before he'd become Cal's valet, manservant... dogsbody. It seemed unfair. Lovejoy had done his job faithfully for years without complaint, but Rose wondered just how much of it he'd actually enjoyed.

Alas, all good things eventually come to an end. The band packed away their instruments. Children were put to bed. Loved ones rejoined each other. Men calmed down and breathless women pinned their hair back into place. Lovejoy went around hugging people and saying goodbye and promising to join them again. He told them they'd better be ready because he was _really_ going to cut loose next time. He even managed to acquire some 'invitations' from some of the more forward women, and suggestions that actually made him blush.

Finally Lovejoy staggered up the stairs sandwiched between Rose and Jack. Tommy and Fabrizio stood behind them, waving goodbye and laughing their heads off.

"Come again soon, Mr. Lovejoy!"

"You make the party, sir! Sei affascinante!" Fabrizio kissed his fingertips.

"Arriverderci," said Lovejoy. "Ciao bella!"

They exited steerage and started down a hallway lined with firmly shut doors.

"Why is the floor moving?" Lovejoy asked.

"Because we're on the Titanic," said Jack. "And you're drunk as a skunk."

"Oh. Titanic. That's a ship, is it not?"

"Only the biggest ship in the world."

"Oh." Lovejoy didn't look convinced, even though all evidence pointed to them indeed being on a ship. He must have forgotten that part.

Jack pushed him down the hallway towards another upward leading flight of stairs. "Come on, Lovejoy. Let's get you some fresh air."

"Please- call me... ah... what's that name again... ?"

Jack roared. "He's forgotten his name! That poitín must have been better than I thought!"

"Spicer!" Lovejoy announced. "Spicer. That's it."

"His name is Spicer Lovejoy," said Rose, stifling a smile.

"Well, _Spicer_ , let's find you a deck chair."

They finally made it up to the first class deck but were immediately confronted by an officer who glared at them sternly.

"We are first class passengers," declared Lovejoy. He tried to fish for a twenty but his hand missed his pocket completely.

"Not in that condition you aren't."

"I can have you fired," said Lovejoy, puffing out his chest.

"No you can't. I work for the White Star Line and I don't believe _you_ do. Now please remove yourselves to the lower decks, where you belong."

"Let's not argue," said Jack, steering the protesting Lovejoy away from the officer before a fight started.

They went down a deck and found somewhere quiet and out of the way to sit and take in the bracing sea air. Lovejoy fell into a deck chair and his hand went to his holster.

"Where's Emily," he slurred.

"Who's Emily?" Jack mouthed to Rose with a puzzled eyebrow.

Lovejoy patted his empty holster. "Emily, where are you?"

"Is Emily his gun?" Rose mouthed back.

"Don't worry about Emily," said Jack, patting Lovejoy's shoulder. "She's safe. She says she'll join you again soon."

Lovejoy smiled blissfully and sat back. "Dear Emily," he murmured.

Rose and Jack exchanged another amused look. This man was unintentionally providing them with hours of entertainment.

"So, Mr. Lovejoy. What excuse did Cal have for sending you after me _this_ time?"

Lovejoy made a puffing sound with his lips. "Oh, just the usual demand. _Find her, Lovejoy_."

"Yes, find her and lock her away like a precious gem. A possession, like the Heart of the Ocean," said Rose, quietly.

"Red is the rose that in yonder garden grows," sang Lovejoy, waving his arm as though conducting an invisible orchestra.

"We can't take you back in that state, Lovejoy. We'll have to stay here until you sober up."

Lovejoy smiled at her. "I am sober, my dear. More sober than I've been in a long while."

Rose glanced at Jack. "If Cal sees him like this... "

"Don't worry," said Jack. "He won't."

Lovejoy was still singing softly. "Somewhere beneath the starry skies, we'll build a sweet little nest, somewhere out in the west... "

Rose smiled wistfully. "I wonder how much of this he'll remember in the morning? It'll be a shame if he goes back to following me around on Cal's orders after all the fun he had tonight."

"Somehow I don't think he will," said Jack. "I think our friend Spicer is rediscovering his soul."

"With the help of Irish moonshine," said Rose, teasingly.

"The best kind of help there is," said Jack, as a shooting star went by.

As for Spicer Lovejoy, who ever thought that a third class hooley would end up being the best night of his life? He felt seventeen again, younger even than Miss Rose. He'd relived a part of his youth on this magnificent, unsinkable ship. He was determined to look forward, beyond the bows of Titanic and into the future, perhaps a future where he wouldn't be quite so tied to the whims of a spoilt, selfish man called Caledon Hockley.

But looking past the bows would have to wait for another day, because right now Spicer Lovejoy couldn't walk a straight line if he tried.

* * *

 _Next chapter- the deleted scene where Lovejoy for some unknown reason goes chasing after Rose and Jack through the flooded dining room. *eyebrow raising intensifies*_


	2. The Tide Is High

"I put the diamond in the coat. And I put the coat on _her_!"

Funny how things turn out, isn't it?

Lovejoy found himself in the unenviable position of wading through icy water in a collapsing dining room that only the night before had entertained the rich and powerful as they nibbled hor d'oevres and discussed ways to become even more rich and powerful. Lovejoy scorned them, of course- the way he scorned everyone. His cards had been marked from the day he came bawling into the world- he was destined to be a man who hid in shadows, who not so much clawed his way to the top as finagled, manipulated and sometimes even threatened. And not even to the top. The top of his own game, maybe. The top in his own shady mind. But in truth, somewhere near the middle, desperately clinging to a sense of position and authority, holding in contempt those who in turn scorned him.

He didn't _want_ the diamond, not really, but he was so conditioned to following orders that he was groin deep in iceberg juice before he knew it. Still, the diamond was worth a lot of money. Retirement money. _Screw you_ money. Checkmate, Caledon Hockley. You're on your own now. Revenge would be sweet.

Somewhere in this murky mess were Rose and Jack. They had tolerated him during his drunken shenanigans and sat with him on the deck until he sobered up. He couldn't remember much of what happened and he hated himself for losing control of his senses. But the kids had been all right with him. He had no reason to despise them in spite of the troubles they'd put him through. He had been on their side once, many years ago. He had been a street urchin, albeit one with delusions of grandeur.

The dining room was filling up, but not with guests. Chairs and tables rolled around, splashing into rising waters. Lovejoy held his gun up high, reflexes jolting at every flicker of electric lights, every creak of timber and moan of iron. Time was running out. He was numb from the waist down, his lungs fought the cold to keep breathing. He had to find those kids. He _owed_ it to them.

Rose crouched behind a table, afraid that any moment Cal would appear before her with that hateful sneer on his face. The water was so cold, she was beginning to lose the feeling in her legs. Jack was hiding elsewhere, ready to take on whoever it was that was stalking them. Cal was the only one vengeful enough to chase them through a sinking ship, or at least to send a minion after them. She should have stayed in the boat. She _couldn't_ stay in the boat. Not without Jack.

Lovejoy banged his knee on a chair and bit his lip as pain shot up his frozen thigh. This wasn't fun anymore. He was beginning to see the whole picture. The unsinkable Titanic was sinking. Truths were lies and lies were truths and he was doing the devil's dirty work. Well, things were about to change. He rubbed his throbbing knee and continued up the slope. He hobbled past more broken furniture and there she was, wet through and crouching like a frightened animal. A beguiling scrap of humanity, which is all a seventeen year old ever was.

He pointed the gun at her. He didn't know why. A sense of perversion, perhaps.

" _I've been looking for you, miss_."

Pain tightened his throat and the words came out sounding more ominous and threatening than he'd intended. In the next moment something, _someone_ launched themselves against his back. Rose's frightened face smeared sideways as he was thrown face down into the water with a splash. He yelled and struggled, elbowing the person hard in the ribs. The weight removed itself and he rolled over onto his back and into a sitting position, glaring furiously at his young attacker.

" _What the absolute shit_ do you think you're doing?"

" _Me_?" screamed the soaking and disheveled Jack Dawson, hugging his ribcage. "What the crap are _you_ doing pointing a gun at Rose? How sharp are your goddamned elbows anyway?"

Lovejoy shook salt water out of his hair and tried to stand up. Two hands reached towards him and pulled him to his feet. Rose's hands. The girl was apparently much stronger than she looked.

"I was following orders." He attempted to spruce himself up by tugging on his lapels, a last grasp at dignity. "But for the very last blasted time."

Rose gestured towards his hairline. "Your head's bleeding."

Lovejoy brushed his fingers against his forehead and examined the fresh slick of blood. "Carpet burns at my age," he muttered. He looked at Rose, ignoring her quizzical expression. "Check your pockets."

"Or what? You'll shoot me?"

"No. That was a mistake- the last one I'll ever make. Please. Check your pockets."

Rose looked down, patting the pockets of Cal's overcoat. One of them felt lumpy. She dug a hand into its depths and closed her fingers around the Heart of the Ocean. Lovejoy smirked at the flash of realization on her face.

"It's the diamond," she whispered.

"Yes. And it's going to seal our fate if we don't get out of here." As if on cue, Titanic groaned and the sea invaded further. Lightbulbs popped, windows started breaking. Where there was even the smallest gap, water pushed through, eager to claim its prize.

Jack frowned. " _You_ were sent to seal our fate, weren't you?"

Lovejoy nodded. There was no more need to pretend. "Yes, I was. I was told I could keep the diamond. I don't know why I believed him. I've been an idiot." He reached one hand towards Rose and one towards Jack. Together the three of them waded to the nearest exit. Halfway there, the ship plunged further into the depths and sent them tumbling, aware now that they were in serious danger. People above them were screaming. People were dying. The ship was breaking up. Millions of dollars were going down the toilet and Lovejoy was worried about a single diamond. He tightened his grip on Rose's hand, ignoring her yelp of pain. He was going to get these kids to safety if it was-and it very well might be- the last thing he ever did.

Every step was like climbing a mountain. The water buffeting their legs made it more treacherous, their bodies rapidly numbing to the point of collapse. Rose stumbled more than once, dragged down by the weight of Cal's coat but unwilling to take it off. When Lovejoy turned to help her, Jack was already there, supporting her with a warning glare.

"You still don't quite trust me, do you?"

"No," the blond boy hissed. "And I never will."

Lovejoy smiled. "You remind me of myself when I was your age. Stubborn and determined."

Jack made a 'pfft' sound and shook dripping hair from his eyes. "Lovejoy. I appreciate what you're doing, but I'll _never_ be like you."

Lovejoy noticed the steel gleam in Dawson's blue eyes, the protective arms wrapped tight around his young charge as she shivered. "Don't speak too soon," he replied enigmatically.

They encountered other passengers, milling around like sheep in their white lifejackets. Their eyes were glazed, as though they didn't quite know what to do or where to go. They didn't listen to Lovejoy. In the end he pushed past them, leaving them to their own devices. Perhaps they were figments of his imagination. Perhaps they were ghosts, already dead. He made a note to tell a crewmember there were people who greatly needed assistance. _A firm kick up the backside_ , to put it bluntly. He resisted the urge to register disgust on his face. That's what happened when you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You expected to be babied all your life. Still, no one deserved to die like this.

The rag tag trio struggled their way up a rapidly steepening slope to the upper deck. It was so, so cold. The water was cold. The air was cold and razor sharp inside their chests. Lovejoy was well past the first flush of youth and closed his eyes with exhaustion. He'd got them to the top deck. He'd redeemed himself, if only in his own eyes. He decided he'd rather die from hypothermia than drowning. At least with hypothermia there was a final sensation of warmth before you slipped into oblivion. His job was done. He'd be okay if he just sat here.

"Go," he said, flopping against the guard rail.

"Go where?" asked Rose, her eyes wide.

Lovejoy closed his eyes. "Just go."

Just go.


	3. Down Down

**Welp, this would-be one-shot is getting longer and longer. We're all agreed that Lovejoy aka the brilliant and underrated actor David Warner is fabulous, yeah? Thank you Steph the Mad Manc for joining me in Warnermania (not that I gave you much choice lel) and encouraging me to add more chapters to what was just meant to be a tiny fic about Lovejoy getting drunk. Moment for Life and Titanic 11912, thank you so much for reading and enjoying. I haven't watched Titanic in its entirety for a long time so please let me know if I've made any glaring errors - otherwise this fic is pretty much a What If? scenario... events have been altered to suit. ~T~**

oOoOoOo

Lovejoy's face burned from the cold. Sounds filtered in through the frozen slabs of meat on either side of his head that used to be his ears. People wailed in terror above the terrible slow cracking of the great ship's hull. There was the endless, horrible splashing of bodies hitting the water. Thousands of lives were beng snuffed out, one after the other, and where was God? Sitting on his backside laughing, probably.

Titanic gave a long, low rumble, the dying moans of a behemoth. Her nose dipped further into the abyss, the deck tilted ever more sharply. Shockwaves shuddered up his spine, jarring his tired bones. One hand gripped the guard rail, not that it meant anything. He wasn't going to survive. A stretch of his lips threatened to crack his icy cheeks. "What could possibly be funny?" he asked himself, echoing the same words he'd asked of Caledon Hockley.

But it _was_ funny. Everything was funny. He fought down the urge to laugh hysterically. Whether he laughed or cried, the outcome would be the same. Death and destruction on such a scale as to be almost incomprehensible. Things like this _just didn't happen_. Perhaps they'd wake up tomorrow in their nice warm beds, having experienced some sort of collective nightmare from eating the clam chowder.

Cracks were appearing on the deck, splintering wooden planks into jagged spears. The weight of the bow was putting too much strain on the stern, the giant ship's back was breaking. Thoughts of a peaceful death began to slide further and further away, but still he clung to the rail, his fingers curled tight as padlocks. Women and children cried out from the drifting lifeboats, men they would never see again failed to remain stoic as their loved ones receded into the gloom. The ship heaved and Lovejoy lost his balance, hitting his already bloodied forehead. A rogue tear slid down his cheek and into his demented grin. People were running towards the stern wearing masks of pure terror. "I'm sorry," he whispered- to them, to himself, to whoever might be listening.

He lowered himself onto the buckling deck, folding his knees up to his chest. Locked onto the railings, this was how he was going to die. He was ready. _More_ than ready.

He was just sinking into a warm, fuzzy nothingness when two hands came towards him through the cold, misting air. He swivelled frozen eyeballs upwards- this time it was Jack Dawson reaching down to help. No sign of Caledon Hockley, of course. His years of loyalty had been repaid with a big Fuck You. What a fool he'd been. What a monumental fool.

"Get up, Lovejoy."

"You must be joking."

"I wish I was."

Lovejoy shook his head. "You're out of your mind. Leave me here and get in a boat, or at least put Rose in a boat. Otherwise I'll have wasted my time."

"Lovejoy, if you don't get up you'll be wasting everyone's time. There are no boats. It's everyone for themselves now."

Lovejoy gave a bleak snort. "You're stupid for coming back."

"Yeah? Well don't blame me, this was _Rose's_ idea. She said she couldn't bear to see an old man suffer."

Lovejoy glanced to Jack's right where Rose was peering at him over her beau's shoulder, her hair like rat's tails and Hockley's coat still hanging off her like a shroud. In spite of his age and exhaustion, he felt a spark of rebellion ignite within, a sense of his old self returning. "If you think that's going to work," he gripped Jack's hand with renewed vigour and unlocked his other fingers from the rail, "you're absolutely right. Old man, indeed."

Rose smiled as Lovejoy slowly unfurled to his full height of six foot two. But a sudden lurch of the ship soon had him bent over again, his head dangling over the rail to give him an unwanted glimpse of the roiling froth below. Human beings fought for survival, all sense of dignity and decorum lost as they thrashed towards hopelessly overloaded lifeboats. White dots bobbing in the sea, too many to count. The sea was alive, dancing with turmoil. He stood up again, quickly. Titanic was splitting in half. A great crashing and thundering rose up from the lower decks. "Perhaps we ought to get moving," he said.

Jack, Rose and Lovejoy hurried towards the stern. Screams intensified, human and human-made howled at the indifference of the heavens. Jack was in the lead, Lovejoy brought up the rear. Between them, Rose fought through pain and fear without a word, her face set resolute.

Grown men fought their way to the railings, clambering over and jumping into the sea. Passengers swung from the empty lifeboat davits like ghastly ornaments. Pandemonium reigned. Leaving seemed obvious, the ship was going down, but panic and struggle was killing people quicker than the cold.

Titanic rocked up on her haunches, flashing her bottom wantonly at the sky. Her lights flickered ominously. Loud booms rang out as boilers exploded, as the ornate glass dome above the grand staircase imploded. Precious human cargo dropped from her flanks, tumbling over and over and slamming into the water, breaking bones, dying instantly. Hellish clouds of steam billowed from the gigantic funnels as they tore off and toppled into the ocean, crushing and decapitating people with their broken stays, killing everyone in the water underneath. Bodies crashed onto exposed propeller blades that lay in wait, monstrous and gleaming, as big as a house. The luxurious liner had become a death machine and no one was safe anymore.

"We have to stay on the ship as long as possible," shouted Jack.

"That's not going to be for much longer," Lovejoy replied.

A man was chanting in front of them. "Yay, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death... "

"You wanna walk a little faster through that valley there?" said Jack, pushing impatiently past.

Finally the lights went out. All of them, all at once. Titanic was dead, already a ghost ship. It seemed colder somehow without that comforting yellow glow. Rose held tightly to Jack's hand, her head whipped round to glance quickly at Lovejoy. Lovejoy couldn't fathom the look in her eyes- it was too dark. A wet strand of her hair stuck to his face as she turned around again and he pulled it away with a frozen finger. They were almost at the stern railings. They and about a hundred other people clamouring for a foothold.

And then Titanic split in half with a mighty crack, sending the bow arrowing straight down and the stern plunging back onto the surface of the ocean, jolting everyone off their feet and throwing those closest to the gaping chasm into the perilous maw of the broken ship. if the cold didn't get you now, blunt force trauma certainly would. Lovejoy looked back in horror. The place where Titanic had split was exactly where he'd been standing. Jack and Rose had quite literally saved his life.

The stern rocked violently for several moments before stabilizing. They were horizontal again, and Lovejoy opened his mouth to express his gratitude. But stability wasn't to last. The bow was still attached to the stern and soon started to drag it down. Again the stern reared upwards, faster this time, engaging in the very last of its death throes, unwilling to die but unable to resist the pull of the bow. Bodies toppled like skittles, only the fittest and strongest had made it to the stern railings. Jack grabbed the railings and climbed onto the outside. It seemed a reckless, idiotic thing to do, but to Lovejoy it showed the kid had brains. Fighting instincts. An indomitable spirit that Caledon Hockley had never shown. The faithful manservant now knew exactly what had drawn Miss DeWitt Bukater to the scruffy third class vagabond. Jack was Rose's opposite number, her twin flame, Yang to her Yin. It was important that they survive to have the life they deserved. They were the kind of people who, given the chance, would change the world, and all for the better.

"I've got you," the boy was saying to Rose. "Come on, I've got you. I won't let go." With every fibre of strength in his body, Jack pulled Rose to safety behind the railings. "You too, Grampa," he added, winking at Lovejoy.

"Bloody cheek," Lovejoy grunted, wrapping his long limbs over the railing. "I may be the wrong side of fifty but there's still life in the old dog yet."

"Oh, I thought you wanted to die?" asked Rose, sweetly.

"Changed my mind. Got a few loose ends I need to tie up... a few bones to pick with a certain someone."

She smiled, a gesture that he was finding increasingly comforting. For a mere seventeen year old, there was a surprising maturity about her. Gone was the sulking, resentful brat who dragged her weight around reluctantly behind Cal Hockley and needed constant monitoring. In her place was a woman of fire, freed from her cage and ready to take on whatever life threw at her. And not before time!

"If we get out of this alive, and we _will_ ," said Lovejoy, feeling blood slick hair against his forehead, "I want you and Mr. Dawson to know that I humbly apologize for all the wrongs I did to you. And, if you are both amenable to the idea, I should like to stay in touch with you once we reach dry land."

"God, Lovejoy, you are so formal!" Rose laughed warmly against the brittle snap of the air. "But, if we make it through this, you are most welcome to stay in touch. Besides," she patted her pocket, "We may have a little inheritance to share with you."

Grateful for Rose's understanding, Lovejoy smiled back at her. "You would have made a wonderful daughter."

"Don't you mean, 'granddaughter'?"

He scoffed loudly. "I'm going to get you back for that one day!"

And with that, the great ship began its final descent into the coal black waters and the rag tag trio returned their attentions to the sheer, instinctual drive to survive.


	4. Holding On To You

They say your life flashes before you- well, that was nonsense. Nothing flashed before Lovejoy save a gale of wind and salt as the remains of the once beautiful Titanic plummeted to her watery grave. Forces he'd never known threatened to tear him apart, preventing him from anything he could do to protect the kids from the same fate. He could hear Rose screaming and the ship moaning like a dying whale and then suddenly the air was gone. They smashed into the water and his mouth and nose filled up and his hands refused to let go of the railings because stupidly he still thought that would save him. The ship pulled him down, sucking him to the ocean floor, and then his hands were ripped away by forces pulling in the other direction. He was absolutely helpless- that frightened him more than anything else. It was dark, it was turbulent, and he didn't know up from down. He pinwheeled in the bubbling depths for an eternity, his lungs ready to explode along with Titanic's boilers, still thundering a mile below. And then he broke the surface, unexpectedly, as he was certain he'd been heading downwards.

It was a mistake to even attempt a huge gulp of air. His lungs refused to expand against the cold. His face was barely through the water barrier, a grim death mask just under the surface. He kicked his legs as much as he could to stay afloat. His right foot hit something, he reached out to grasp it, hoping it would buoy him up. His fingers felt hair. His instincts were to let go but the last vestiges of sanity told him to hold on and he pulled with all his strength. The owner of the hair rose to the surface. It was Rose.

"Oh God," he moaned. She wasn't moving. Her eyes were closed, her lips blue, although everything looked blue at the moment. And where was Jack? After all this, the boy could not be dead, not now. The boy had gotten them all through this. _Boy_? Jack Dawson the man had the makings of a true hero.

Through the gloom, Lovejoy made out a series of strange bubbles. After a moment he realised they were heads, people just like him, pustulating the surface. He heard cries and moans and other sounds he'd never known a human could make. Soft splashing, icy stillness between the gaps, like the space between stars. If there were cathedrals in hell, they'd surely be like this.

Holding tightly to Rose, Lovejoy summoned up every last shred of strength that he'd once possessed, from a time when he was young and robust and absolutely sure of himself. He forced his lungs to breathe. By a miracle, he found a floating lifejacket and prayed for the soul it had belonged to as he threaded his free arm through it. The bloody thing bobbed awkwardly, wanting to escape his clutches to find its rightful owner. It was a battle to transfer Rose to one hand while he wasted precious energy fighting his way into the misbehaving item. But he tamed it at last, and now he wasn't going to sink, even if he died. And Rose wasn't going to die either. He'd force a pulse into her if he had to.

"Rose," he heard, but it wasn't his own voice. "Rose... Rose, where are you?"

"Dawson!"

"Lovejoy? Is that you?"

"Yes. I've got Rose, she's safe."

Splashing came nearer, and then Jack came into view, a ghostly shape shrouded in mist. His face, taught with cold, looked older than Lovejoy had ever seen him. "I promised her I wouldn't let go."

"You didn't. And she's barely conscious anyway. We need to get her into a lifeboat. I think I can hear them coming back."

"We can't wait that long and I'm not going to fight with anymore selfish assholes."

Lovejoy grimaced, hoisting Rose higher onto his shoulder. "Agreed. Let's find something that floats."

Rose stirred with all the movement around her. She whimpered softly, one of her arms came up out of the water. Lovejoy pulled it down again, lest she inadvertently send more water into his lungs. Jack swam closer and spoke to her, quelling her fears, lulling her gently into relaxation. Lovejoy could only marvel at the connection between these two. When they communicated, it was as if they were the only two souls in existence. He thought of all the women he'd ever known- missed connections, wilfully ignored connections, rejected connections, a series of faces, each so different; blue eyes, brown eyes, amber eyes, red hair, dark hair, hair as golden as a field of wheat, yet none of them had ever been as close to his heart as Rose was to Jack, and he was seriously and worryingly humbled by it.

There was all kinds of detritus in the water, and bodies. So many bodies. _Help is coming_ , said Lovejoy, _help is coming. Just hold on, help is coming_. Some of them acknowledged him, many of them didn't although they were still alive. The dead became quickly recognisable. Lumps of bone and flesh, nothing more, their heads bowed, their souls already part of the mist, gazing down in pity at the consequences of human arrogance.

Jack splashed by, looking for something to hold onto. Bodies bobbed away on the ripples and Lovejoy turned back to the task in hand.

Someone must have been looking out for them, for they soon found a plank of wood large enough for at least one person. A broken door, oddly shaped, but floating. Between them, Lovejoy and Jack pushed Rose up and onto it, making sure she didn't slide off the other side. The door rocked dangerously, Jack held on one side and Lovejoy the other. With no arms supporting her, Rose was shocked into wakefulness again.

"Jack...!"

"It's okay, Rose. I'm here. You're safe, I promise." Jack's voice cracked with cold, his arms gripped the door and locked on tight.

"There's room," Lovejoy croaked. "There's room on here for two."

"Then get up there," said Jack.

"You bloody get up there!"

"You're older than I am."

"I've got a lifejacket."

"Then give it to me."

Lovejoy shook his head. "I'm not in love with Rose."

Jack scoffed. "Everyone loves Rose."

Lovejoy snorted with impatience. "But not the way _you_ do. Get on the door, Jack. That's an order."

"Lovejoy, be serious. This thing won't support three of us."

"It's not going to support three of us, just two. Now get on it or three of us will die instead of one." Lovejoy reached round and gripped the sleeve of Jack's shirt.

Wordlessly, Jack eased his frame onto the door while Lovejoy held it steady. Lovejoy couldn't resist a quick, "Budge over, Rose, your man is freezing his," he coughed politely, "... over here."

"He means ' _ass_ '," said Jack.

"So formal," murmured Rose.

"Actually I meant ' _arse_ '," said Lovejoy. "'Ass' is so American."

Rose moved over an inch or two and the door wobbled dangerously. Lovejoy sank under the surface, swallowed yet more water and fought the rising nausea. He hacked up a throatful of brackish phlegm and covered his mouth to spit it into the water. Manners be damned.

"Once you're on," he croaked, "don't move."

"We don't intend to."

"Good. Soon as you're settled I'm going to find help."

Jack flung one arm over Rose as she lay staring up at the black velvet sky. She sighed gratefully, the door trembled as they shook from the cold. All around them, plaintive voices carved notches in the air.

"We're settled," said Jack, his voice audibly shivering. "If we die, at least we'll be together."

Lovejoy released his hold on the door and pushed himself away.

"Lovejoy. Thank you, I mean it. Don't go far, and don't drown. Okay?"

"I shall try not to," Lovejoy replied. He kicked feet that he couldn't feel, registered slight movement in his lower half and seemed to be in motion. He drifted further away from the floating door, bumping against objects, both human and human-made. A wicker chair floated incongruously past, a flat cap drifted along, dark and silent as a jellyfish.

Kindness was a strangely intimate thing. Lovejoy had never been comfortable with it. Kindness broke through carefully constructed defenses. Women were kind. Children were kind. Weaklings were kind. They were all to be scorned in favour of male indifference. Civilisations were not built on kindness. Progress was not made by conceding to the other. But look where progress had got them. Mankind made things out of metal that floated, and suddenly believed they owned the seven seas. Well, the sinking of the Titanic had proved them wrong. For where was their majestic invention now? At the bottom of the ocean, where no man alive had ever been.

There was a single lifeboat in the distance. Lovejoy saw the speck of light swinging to and fro, heard the splashing of oars. He pushed himself towards it, a sodden moth drawn to a life giving flame. He tried to shout, but his remaining voice was no more than a whisper. The closer he got to salvation, the weaker he began to feel. He raised an arm, praying for the feel of someone's fingers through his. The mist glowed, a voice rang out.

"Hallooooo! Is there anybody there? Hall-ooooo!"

"Here..." Lovejoy whispered, "over here..."

" _Halloooooo_!"

Lovejoy scanned the sea of dead and dying bodies. There had to be _something_ he could use to get their attention. He screamed silently as a dead man popped up in front of him, propelled himself backwards into another one. As he flailed around in shock and disgust he noticed the whistle hanging from a dead seaman's neck. His heart began hammering. He swung back towards the body and grasped the whistle with frozen, clawed fingers.

Way behind him, on the floating door, Rose coughed tightly and Jack smoothed hair away from her brow.

"Lovejoy... is he... did he... ?"

"He's gone to find help. Sssh. Don't think about anything."

"H-he.. only ever obeyed Cal. H-he's deserted us."

"Rose. Have faith. He's changed. People change. _We've_ changed, you and I."

"I never used to like him. N-never trusted him."

Jack came clean. "He pulled you out of the water," he said softly.

Rose rolled her head sideways to look at Jack. "I thought you... "

"I did, I was there too. But he got you first." Jack gave a dry chuckle. "Longer arms, the bastard."

Rose cracked a smile. "I love you, Jack Dawson."

"I love you too, Rose- "

"Dawson," she said quickly.

"Rose Dawson. Welcome to Chippewa Falls. It gets warmer in the summer, I promise."

Together they watched the stars and softly began to sing. Their voices were ragged, barely audible, ice was freezing on them, turning them into delicate sculptures with only their lips barely moving.

"Come Josephine, in my flying machine. Going up she goes, up she goes. Balance yourself like a bird on a beam, in the air she goes. There she goes.."

 _Up, up, a little bit higher_

 _Oh! My! The moon is on fire_

 _Come Josephine in my flying machine_

 _Going up, all on, Goodbye!_

Surely they were going to die. No human body could survive this kind of torture. And then Jack heard it- the unmistakable sound of a whistle, long and loud, ripping the mist apart, and a distant voice responding.

"Come about! come about, there's somebody over there!"

"We're saved," said Jack, although he almost didn't believe it. "We're saved, Rose. We're saved. He did it. Lovejoy did it!"

* * *

"Come Josephine In My Flying Machine" music by Fred Fisher and lyrics by Alfred Bryan (from Wikipedia)

"Budge over, Rose", that line was for you, Titanic 11912 :-D


	5. Lifted

Blowing the whistle had taken every last ounce of breath from Lovejoy's frozen lungs. He flopped listlessly while stronger, younger arms heaved him out of the sea. The lifeboat tipped under his weight on the gunwale, someone ordered people to the other side to give it balance. Lovejoy would have liked to have assisted, but there was barely a responsive cell in his body. Either he had gone blind or his eyes were frozen shut because he could no longer see. He knew his mouth was open because his back teeth throbbed painfully and his throat was raw as sandpaper. It was the only way he could breathe- his nose had long since fallen off his face, or so it felt.

He slumped awkwardly, long arms and legs folding into a tiny space. A myriad of voices babbled around him. Someone even had the nerve to complain the boat couldn't take any more. Again, that tiny spark of life kicked into gear. As the lifeboat drifted through the floating graveyard, Lovejoy tried to take the flashlight from the officer's hand.

"The children," he said hoarsely. "They're alive, over there."

"Where?" The officer lifted the flashlight out of arm's reach, turning his head this way and that, peering through the gloom.

Lovejoy struggled into a sitting position. The boat rocked, someone shouted. He no longer knew which way they was pointing. He gestured with a violently shaking hand. "There. Or there... somewhere over there, for heaven's sake, I was just with them, they're _alive_!"

"All right, sir. Calm down. We'll find them."

Lovejoy shook so hard that he feared giving himself a heart attack. Perhaps he'd already crossed over into the angelic realm and was now functioning as some sort of superannuated automaton intent on fulfilling his last earthly duty before vanishing in a puff of smoke. His vision returned, sharper than ever. He scanned the corpse-blistered waters like an owl looking for mice, sniffed the air like a bloodhound. He was a detective, he ought to remember every detail of every dead face he'd passed.

"They're together, on top of a floating door," he said, quite coherently he thought, but the officer asked him to speak again. " _On a door_ ," he snapped, trying to fix the man with a haughty glare.

The gentle splish-splash of the oars became almost hypnotic. Ghostly fingers of mist caressed Lovejoy's face like a long dead lover. The beam of light glanced around, lighting on death everywhere they looked. It was difficult not to imagine the grisly fate of those who had remained on Titanic as she sank. Lovejoy hoped their deaths had been instantaneous.

After an eternity of searching, Lovejoy saw them. "There! Over there! Hard to starboard!"

The lifeboat came about and approached the dark, flattened mass bobbing gently on the water. The flashlight picked out the pitiful huddled lump on top of it. A pile of clothing dusted with shimmering ice crystals... Lovejoy was afraid they'd removed their attire and jumped into the ocean together, sacrificing their lives for each other like Romeo and Juliet.

But Jack and Rose were still aboard. He breathed a sigh of relief as the lifeboat drew alongside.

"Ahoy there," said the officer. "Can you hear me?"

There was nothing for a while, just the soft creaking of wood and the lapping of water against the boat. Then the lump stirred and a cheer went up from the lifeboat passengers _. Come on, hurry! Get them in!_

Tremendous effort was required to bundle the frozen youngsters into the lifeboat. Lovejoy did what he could to help but was gently moved aside because apparently he had all the coordination of a blindfolded ox.

"But I'm in charge of them," he pleaded. "They're my- " he didn't know what to call them. He wasn't their valet. He wasn't their father. "- I'm their bodyguard," he finished, feebly. He didn't know what he was any more.

Rose came into the boat first, shivering and squeaking like a baby bird. Lovejoy grasped the collar of her coat, Cal's coat, and pulled her towards him. "Rose," he said, lightly tapping her cheeks, "Rose, it's me. You're safe."

She huddled next to him, still babbling nonsense. Something about stars and _up, up, up_. He shushed her with soothing sounds, pulled frozen ropes of hair away from her face. Jack was lifted off the door amid a shower of powdered ice that fell into the boat like snow.

"It's like Christmas in April," said Lovejoy, smiling when someone tutted.

Rose's hand crept shakily up his neck. "Jack... " she whispered. "Jack."

 _Oh shit,_ thought Lovejoy. He threaded his fingers through her roving ones and brought her hand away from his skin. "It's alright, miss," he said softly. "Jack is here. He's safe."

She curled her fingers into his hand and slumped against him with relief. All the fight went out of her. Lovejoy held her hand against his chest and cradled her like a baby. If he had one job, it was to make sure no one ever hurt her again.

The lifeboat continued its search for survivors. But all was still, no voices heard. Somewhere far below, Titanic slumbered with all who perished on board. Captain Smith, God rest his soul. The band, bravely playing on until their last breath. Men, women and children, their places in society never to be judged, mocked, scorned or admired again. God bless them and keep them on their eternal maiden voyage. It was a tragedy. A catastrophe. The very worst thing that could have happened. Of all the vast miles of open ocean, they had to find the one iceberg and hit it. Whoever was to blame, Lovejoy almost wished they'd been the first to hit the ocean floor.

They began encountering other lifeboats on the periphery of the disaster zone. Scraps of life- some crying, others singing quietly. Moans and sobs and names called out in hope of finding loved ones. Jack's breathing concerned Lovejoy. The boy's lungs sounded full of ice. But the three of them were alive. Against all odds, Lovejoy, Jack and Rose had survived. And they were going to keep surviving, if Lovejoy had anything to do with it.

 _"What a piece of work is a man,"_ he quoted, speaking to nobody but himself. _"How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable. In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god."_

He rested his head on the side of the boat and finally, _willingly_ , allowed himself to sleep.


	6. To The Rescue

**A/N: Nothing is canonically known about Lovejoy's past so I invented one.**

When Spicer Lovejoy hit puberty he shot up to six feet almost overnight. His parents were astonished. His friends teased him about _the weather up there._ His enemies, of which he already had a small handful, shrank back in horror. And the girls began to notice him; although it wasn't hard to notice someone who stood head and shoulders over every other kid in town.

There was one in particular. Her name was Ruby Watkins. She was from the poorer end of town- Lovejoy, his parents and younger brother lived two miles nearer to the rich end. This meant the young Spicer was way out of her league and he endeavoured to make sure she knew it. He was never downright mean to her but he did string her along, blew hot and cold, kept her thinking she was in with a chance. One girl's affections were sure to draw others; women liked a popular man. It was a validation of your desire, to want what others wanted. Fourteen year old Spicer Lovejoy was already learning how to figure people out.

Spicer worked at his father's hardware store but it wasn't what he wanted. His sights were set much higher, he envisioned a loftier future for himself. Along with the obvious physical effects of puberty came a sharper, shrewder way of thinking, the seeds of an ambition that was to become ever more ruthless. His town was getting smaller and smaller each day. He wanted change, he sought adventure. Sweeping floors that other people walked all over was not his idea of a career move.

Ruby visited the store a lot. Always on an errand to buy something her father wanted. She never had any money. She always claimed she forgot it, but Spicer knew the Watkins' didn't have much money and Ruby's father wouldn't waste what little they had on a constant supply of four inch copper nails. He'd lean on his broom and narrow his eyes at her. "Look what the cat dragged in," he'd say, but always with a curl of his lips so she'd know he was only teasing.

She followed him around the store, picking things up and putting things down. If she dropped something, he sighed theatrically. If she offered to help, he'd say, "don't ever work for nothing." It was the one valuable piece of advice he gave her, in all sincerity.

She was thirteen years old, with huge dark eyes and a mess of brown curls. Her face was still rounded with puppy fat, her nose wore a dusting of faint freckles. Her mouth was small, her pink lips were soft and Spicer was distracted by them when she spoke. Often he would start sweeping more furiously to drown out the babble of her words and distract himself from the inevitable teenage boy's reaction to the close proximity of a girl. He may have been smarter and better than her in many ways, but there was one power that she had, and it was a mighty power far superior to his. At fourteen years old, Spicer Lovejoy was already determined not to let women control him.

Ruby was only in his life for a short while. He never made sexual advances towards her. He tolerated her, teased her, but let it be known he wasn't interested. It upset her, but he tried not to dwell on it. Eventually she drifted away. He lost his virginity to a girl he preferred, and at sixteen he left town to seek his fortune.

And now Ruby was back. Grown up and quite beautiful, riding her bicycle down country lanes, laughing as he pedalled madly behind, unable to keep up. And he wanted her, _God_ how he wanted her.

 _Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do._

 _I'm half crazy, all for the love of you._

 _It won't be a stylish marriage,_

 _I can't afford a carriage._

 _But you'll look sweet, upon the seat of a bicycle made for two._

Lovejoy slowly opened his eyes. A wall of steel met his gaze. As he drifted back to consciousness, he saw that the wall of steel belonged to a ship- a tiny one compared to Titanic, but by god a ship, and a welcome one at that. Lifeboats were being winched out of the water, one by one. There was noise, too. So much noise after so much deathly silence. Titanic survivors were coming back to life, just like him, upon realising they had been rescued.

He looked at his wristwatch. It said 2:20am, but on closer inspection he saw that it had stopped. He asked someone what time it was. Four fifteen, they replied. The sky was rapidly lightening, a hazy stripe of orange lay on the horizon. The dawn of a new day for him, but not for many others. He stared at it, transfixed. _Life goes on_ , he thought.

"We're saved," said Rose, still huddled in his arms.

"You're awake!" said Lovejoy.

"I've been awake for ages. _You,_ on the other hand... " She peered at him with amusement in her eyes.

"It's a good thing I trust you with my girl," said Jack, fully awake and grinning even while he shivered.

A broad grin split Lovejoy's face. It felt like someone had sliced the corners of his mouth with a scalpel. "You both had me so worried."

Jack glanced at Rose. "You had _us_ worried. We thought you were dead until you began singing."

Lovejoy went paler than he was already. "Singing?"

Rose giggled. "Daisy, Daisy... "

Jack continued, "Give me your answer, do."

They sang together, "I'm half crazy, all for the love of you... "

"All right," said Lovejoy, cutting them off before they got to the bit about marriage. "That's quite enough. I must have been delirious. It's bloody cold, in case you haven't noticed."

The trio was jostled around while men attached winch lines to their lifeboat. Passengers hugged each other, clapped one another on the back, comforted squalling babies and restless children. Lovejoy delivered Rose to Jack feeling strangely bereft at the empty space she left behind and the warmth she took from his side. He turned his attentions to mechanical things. _Manly_ things. Again he offered his help, again he was turned down, albeit with a sympathetic smile _. Thank you, sir. For all your kind offers. But we're safe now. You don't need to worry anymore._

The rescue ship was called Carpathia. She was small and sturdy and her decks filled up very quickly. It was daylight now, the rising sun illuminating the huddled masses in their pitiful lifejackets. People clung to each other or wandered around in a state of bewilderment, plucking at the sleeves of strangers.

Lovejoy was helped out of the lifeboat, struggling to bear his own weight on the lifeless sticks that used to be his legs. He staggered just a few steps before someone led him to a place where he could sit down. "I'm tired of sitting," he said. "I've been sitting for hours. I need to keep moving."

He lost sight of Jack and Rose and began to panic. He threw off the helping hands and searched the crowds for their faces, pushing people aside as he went. He found them quickly, as they had not strayed far from the bedecked lifeboat. They stood like an island of calm in a sea of turmoil, arms wrapped tightly round each other.

Blankets were handed out. People grabbed for them, folded them around women and children. Lifevests were discarded, but kept on by many who remined in a state of shock. Lovejoy took a blanket and handed it to Jack, who wrapped Rose up like a cocoon. The valet hovered around them, unsure of what to do next. He didn't want to leave them, but right now they had eyes for no one but each other.

Carpathia now teemed with life. The sinking of the Titanic was a shock to everyone but not everyone was happy with their circumstances. Once again Lovejoy picked out the sounds of people unhappy with their lot. He had an ear for the unfortunate- not a skill to brag about, but it had served him in the past when he needed to take advantage of a situation. Right now it just depressed him to hear so much grumbling from folk who were lucky to be alive. For that reason alone he stayed with 'the children', wondering what they made of him.

He listened to people searching for their missing loved ones. Women crying for lost husbands, fathers, brothers and sons. It occurred to Lovejoy that he wasn't looking for anyone, and no one was looking for him. His parents were long since deceased, he was estranged from his brother, and he'd never married nor produced children that he knew of. With a sinking heart, Lovejoy realised that nobody would miss him if he died. It hit him as hard as Titanic had hit the iceberg. He was nobody and he had no one.

His legs buckled and he had to sit down. There was a wooden crate nearby that someone had just vacated and he took ownership of it before someone else did. But he wasn't happy sitting down because it made him feel even more insignificant. He straightened his spine for a sense of authority and simply watched people go by, listening to their chatter, wondering who they were. He didn't recognise a single face, not one person who had been in Caledon Hockley's circle. But they were still winching lifeboats- there was every chance someone would be along soon. Trudy, perhaps.

"You okay, Lovejoy?"

Startled by a friendly voice, Lovejoy smiled a little too gratefully at Jack. "I'm very good, sir," he said mock-formally, like the old days.

Jack played along. "Top news, old boy."

"How's Rose?"

"Very well, thank you," said Rose, curtseying lightly.

"I can't feel my feet," Lovejoy admitted. "I'm afraid I may have frostbite." He caught himself quickly. "But I'm- _we're_ alive, and there's everything to be thankful for."

"You're a good man, Lovejoy," said Jack. "You weren't, but now you are."

"Well," said Lovejoy. "I was dying, but now I'm not."

Rose graced him with the warmest smile he'd ever seen on someone frozen to the bone.

"Thank you, Mr. Lovejoy. Thank you for all that you've done. Cal picked himself a good man."

"Actually his father picked me precisely because I was a cold hearted bastard. But I'm humbled by your acceptance, Miss Rose. And yes, I know I'm being formal. It's just the way I am."

"You're living proof that an old dog can learn new tricks," said Jack, cheekily.

"Yes, but not all at once. Give me a break, won't you?"

Jack and Rose both giggled. Their love was so strong and so bright that it lit up the area around them. Lovejoy began noticing smiles instead of frowns, hope instead of despair. He smacked his hands down on his knees and stood up with renewed energy. "To hell with frostbite," he muttered, wincing at the pain in his legs.

After a while he noticed a woman standing near the railings. She too was by herself. She looked familiar, although her dark hair straggled down her back in untidy coils and her face was white as a sheet. She looked lost, she tried talking to people as they milled around but they only shook their heads and stared blankly past her shoulder. Each time she stood up on tiptoes, each time she sank down again, disappointed. He thought he knew her from somewhere. _Jesus Christ,_ he thought. _Surely that's not Ruby._

As if sensing his gaze, the woman turned her head in Lovejoy's direction. Her eyes met his before he could look away. There was a spark of recognition. Her face lit up. _Hello, handsome,_ she mouthed.

Of course. She had been at the hoedown in steerage the night he went looking for Rose and ended up legless. She had been part of the gang of women who thought he was hilarious. How funny that he should be legless yet again, but for entirely different reasons. He found himself smiling back, slightly ironically, and shrugging his shoulders.

Unbeknownst to him, Rose and Jack were watching.

"Make a move, Lovejoy," said Jack. "This might be your last chance."

Lovejoy attempted to stare at Jack in his old, bombastic manner. But Jack and Rose simply burst out laughing.

It had been a long time since Lovejoy had let his guard down. He didn't think he'd ever let it down completely. But the woman was clearly looking at him, waiting for him to do something.

So he did.

He went over to say hello.

It was a start.


	7. Brand New Day

Events unfolded like a bizarre dream seen from a distance. At times it was almost too much for the human mind to comprehend. How could God let this happen? And yet people still prayed to Him; Rose heard the desperate pleas for forgiveness, as though people had brought this on themselves. Her eyes looked, but it was her heart and mind that saw. Class was indeed a social construct. Her mother had been fixated on wealth and status. How utterly useless were those things now. But then she saw a First Class survivor on the upper deck given preferential treatment by a crewman from the Carpathia, and she knew, deep down, that nothing had really changed. She looked for her mother, but not so eagerly that she got up and walked about. She was content to stay with Jack, because he was her world now.

And Lovejoy? He was quite the dark horse. There was still a tiny shred inside her that couldn't forget the way he stuck to Cal like glue, doing his every bidding, monitoring her like the school sneak. But he did seem different now. Rose had the diamond, but what did he have to gain by saving Jack? And yet he and Jack bantered like old friends, some kind of masculine thing men did even after fighting so hard they made each other bleed.

The valet's dour presence had always intimidated her, but now that he was on the other side of the deck she began to shiver, a combination of cold and delayed shock. The sun was climbing ever higher, burning away the mist, soothing with its golden glow. It would be warmer soon, but the fact remained. A terrible tragedy had occurred, and the fallout was only just beginning.

Along with hundreds of lives lost, Rose's old life had also died. Jack was quick to notice the change in her. He wanted to take her away from the jostling crowds but every spare bit of deck was taken and people were still coming aboard in ever decreasing numbers. He needed to get Rose to a seat. She seemed to be weakening, even though he knew she was stronger than she looked.

"Mother," said Rose, mournfully. "What happened to my mother?"

"Sssh," said Jack. "We don't know anything yet. Let's sit down and take things one at a time."

Rose took him literally and sank to the deck. Without arguing, Jack dropped to his haunches next to her, ready to spring into action if necessary.

She closed her eyes, laid her head against a wooden barrel. "Isn't Lovejoy a card," she murmured.

"Which one, the Joker?"

"Ace of Spades."

"Right now I think he's trying to be King of Hearts."

Rose breathed deeply, her body calming. "Did he really save us, Jack?"

"He did, Rose. Withut his help we'd be dead. Without our help, _he'd_ be dead. We made a good team out there."

"He never listened to anyone but Cal. He used to scare me. He never smiled, he never laughed unless it was sarcastic. Always with his gun." She snickered. "'Emily'. Who names their gun 'Emily'?"

"A man starved of love."

Rose smiled, her eyes still closed. "No love or joy for Mr. Lovejoy," she said.

"Until now that is." Jack tried to spot Lovejoy but the crowd was too thick.

The sun touched Rose's cheeks, bringing back the colour of health. "What are we going to do," she murmured. "What are we going to do."

"Sit tight and hope for the best." Jack turned his face to the rising sun and squinted at people as they passed. "One day I'll paint all this. I'll paint it all. The good, the bad, the dying of the light. People need to know what happened. The dead deserve to be remembered."

"What a wonderful idea. A tribute to lost friends."

"Fabrizio," said Jack. "I need to find out if he made it. Tommy, Cora- Jesus, Rose, so many people."

"Mother, and Cal, and Molly Brown... "

"But not us, Rose. We're safe. We can live for all who died, as long as we remember." He gazed into her eyes, reading her better than anyone she knew. "I'll paint you, Rose. Every day, I'll paint you."

oOoOoOo

"So. You made it." The dark haired woman regarded Lovejoy with a twinkle in her eye. "Who would have thought so many First Class passengers would be saved."

Lovejoy pursed his lips and said nothing.

"I hope some of _my_ lot survived," she continued, "but I'm having trouble finding any. Mary, Nancy, Abigail... you remember them, don't you?"

Lovejoy rocked on his frozen heels. "I might."

"Sure, 'you might'. You proposed to half a dozen girls that night."

Lovejoy paled. "Good Lord," he muttered.

"Did you ever get your piece back?"

"My piece?" Lovejoy soon realised what she meant and patted the lump under his arm. "Oh _that_. Yes, but I rather think she's broken beyond all repair."

"She?"

"Emily."

The woman frowned at him. "Emily... the gun."

"Actually, she's a nickel-plated M1911. I won't get her out for you." He looked around. "Someone might think I've gone berserk. I really don't wish to be shot dead after all I've been through."

She laughed gently. "So. I think a proper introduction is due. I'm Brighid Murphy. Typical Irish name. And you?"

"Spicer Lovejoy." He put his hand out awkwardly and she took it in both of her own.

"Spicer Lovejoy," she repeated. "Not typical in _any_ way. But certainly memorable. I do remember the 'Lovejoy' part. You were everyone's friend that night." She gestured at the crowd. "Are your people here?"

"Jack and Rose are here," he said. "I don't know about anyone else."

Her face brightened. "Oh, thank God in all his mercy. Where are they?"

"Over there somewhere. You must have seen them."

She sidled half an inch closer. "Maybe I only had eyes for one person." But then she laughed, making fun of herself. "Bejesus, listen to me. I'm shameless."

Lovejoy cocked his head, enjoying the flirty exchange. "It's called joie de vivre. The joy of being alive."

"Is that so? Well, I'm not sure how I feel but yes, It's sure good to be alive."

The conversation bumped to a halt as Lovejoy stared down at the glimmering ocean. The waters looked benign and innocent, as though nothing untoward had ever happened. Darts of sunlight winked at him. Small waves made plopping sounds against Carpathia's hull. The sight filled him with dread. He wasn't sure he'd ever trust the sea again. He knew for sure he'd never board another ship.

"Frightening, isn't it?" she said, as though reading his mind.

"Terrifying," he admitted. "Gives you a real sense of perspective."

She leaned on the rail next to him. Her face seemed less pale, her eyes more alive. Her hair was drying, turning from a nondescript dark colour into shades of mahogany and hazelnut. She had long eyelashes and a little mole under her right eye. She was maybe a little too thin, but he couldn't judge her on that.

"You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago," said Lovejoy. "Her name was Ruby. I treated her badly and now I wish I hadn't. She was just a child. I was too, but she loved me and I discarded her."

"Children can be cruel. They don't know what they want yet."

"I knew what I wanted. And it wasn't her. I wanted power and status and money and all of those things that don't matter any more. I traded my heart for all of that. And I hated it."

She slipped her hand lightly over his. "I think we're all beginning to realise what's important. I have stories of my own, equally tragic and just as heartbreaking."

"Of course. I didn't mean to imply... "

She squeezed his knuckles. "I know you didn't."

Lovejoy looked down at their joined hands. His was as big as a paddle, hers was much smaller, the tips of her fingers reached only to his middle knuckles. But the human contact was so welcome, so forgiving, that he felt like crying.

"My sister and my nephew were on board," Brighid said quietly. "I don't think I'll see them again."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I can feel their spirits around me. When you're that close to someone, you just know."

Lovejoy turned his hand palm upwards and linked their fingers together. "I'm sorry," he said. "For your loss."

"The soul lives on," she replied. "It's only the shell that dies. And sometimes it's even a blessed relief. I can't imagine how awful, how lonely it was to go down with Titanic. And to be there still, all the way down there, my God, in the cold and darkness. You have to believe in the soul, Mr. Lovejoy. Otherwise there's nothing."

He smiled as warmly as he could. "Then for your sake, and for your sister and nephew, I believe."

"Good man," she said, her eyes twinkling. "I'm so very glad we met again. I'm so glad you're just as decent sober as you were when you were blootered. After the rocky start, that is. When you called me a filthy wench. Though I'm sure I deserved it."

It wasn't appropriate to kiss someone you'd only just introduced yourself to, so Lovejoy let go of the railings but not her hand, and said, "Come on, Brighid. Let's go find Rose and Jack."

People were warming up, removing lifejackets, taking off soaking overcoats. The passengers of the Carpathia were rallying around the survivors of the Titanic. It had just gone six am. Lovejoy swore he could smell breakfast cooking. He saw a few people holding cups of tea. He located Rose and Jack exactly where he had left them. He didn't think it wise for them to remain motionless all this time, and told them so.

"Yes, Dad," said Jack.

"This is Brighid," said Lovejoy, ignoring him.

Jack's eyes widened. "Hey, I know you!" He jumped to his feet and embraced Brighid, who hugged him back, laughing. He picked her up and swung her around while Lovejoy helped Rose to her feet.

"You should move around a bit, miss. We don't want your circulation to stop."

Rose loosened the blanket around her shoulders. "I'm seventeen, Lovejoy. Not seventy."

Lovejoy smirked. "If we're quick, we can grab a cup of tea."

"I never thought the word 'tea' could sound so appealing," sad Jack, grinning as he dumped Brighid back on her feet.

"We'll have you drinking the brown stuff yet," Brighid said, ruffling Jack's hair which was drying blond and already falling into his eyes.

Rose sank into the warmth of their little group, delighted that Lovejoy had made a new friend. She hoped it woud mark the start of a new life for him. He looked younger already, smile lines returning to his mouth, a brightness in his eyes she had never seen. Brighid was teasing him mercilessly, he was giving back as good as he got. Jack bounced on his feet, pushed his hair back with both hands and blew through his nose like a horse ready to leave the stable. There was a feeling of optimism in the air at last.

"I could do with a stack of bacon and eggs," said Jack. "Hash browns, pancakes, cornbread... "

"Oh stop!" said Brighid, smacking his arm. "Sausages, black pudding, creamy potatoes... "

Rose went white. "Cal," she whispered.

"Cal? What the hell is Cal?" asked Brighid, "some upper class delicacy? Do ye get chips with it?"

"Hardly." Rose pulled the blanket across her face and turned away, while Jack went immediately to her side. Lovejoy followed her gaze, his face turning thunderous.

"Caledon Hockley," he muttered through gritted teeth.

The man in question was standing on the upper deck like the Lord of the manor, sweeping the ship with gimlet eyes.

"Take Rose under the deckhouse, that way," Lovejoy instructed.

Jack obeyed silently, taking Brighid with them through the crowds. "Cal is Rose's sworn enemy," he said as they took cover. "Lovejoy used to work for him, but I don't think there's any love lost between them now. This should be interesting."

"To say the least," Rose added.

The three of them huddled together, watching Cal as he descended the flight of steps to the lower deck. A crewman tried to stop him, saying that first class passengers were all upstairs. Hockley ignored the man, just as he ignored everyone he considered beneath him. He reached the lower deck and stopped. Lovejoy was standing ramrod straight on feet placed slightly apart, one behind the other, just enough so that he wouldn't be knocked off balance if Caledon charged at him.

"Lovejoy," said Cal, his tone friendly, his demeanour anything but. "Well, well, well."

"You let her die," said Lovejoy quietly. "You saved your own skin and let her die."

Cal smiled slyly. "And you?"

"I did my best, which is more than can be said of you."

"I make my own luck. Remember?"

Lovejoy nodded. "And if you remember, I make mine too." He patted the lump under his arm. "And since I no longer work for you, I have no qualms about making it right now."

To his disgust, Caledon Hockley laughed. "I always admired your tough talk, Lovejoy. What say we find ourselves a couple of brandies and make amends?"

Lovejoy bristled with suppressed anger. Rose and Jack huddled closer, almost blending into the bulkhead, while Brighid watched Lovejoy in action like she'd never seen him.

"How about I share a couple of things with you first?" the valet said menacingly.

"By all means," said Cal. He opened his arms in a conciliatory fashion and gave Lovejoy the perfect opportunity to strike.

Lovejoy lunged forward and punched Caledon Hockley hard in the solar plexus, knocking all the wind out of him. " _That_ is from Miss Rose and me," he snarled, "and _that_ ," he caught Caledon on the chin with a sharp uppercut as the younger man went down, "is from the Chippewa Falls Dawsons." He stood rubbing his knuckles as Caledon slumped wheezing to the deck and men came running to break up a fight that was already over.

"I'll get you... for that... Lovejoy," Cal gasped as he was helped to his feet. "I will get you... for that!" Black hair flopped in his eyes, spittle flecked his lips. He was still cursing brutishly as he was dragged away. Lovejoy brushed off the men surrounding him.

"It's over," he told them brusquely. "I've settled my scores."

Jack, Rose and Brighid were cheering him from the shelter of the deckhouse and he went to rejoin them. There was still a scowl on his face but it softened as he approached the smiling trio. By the time they'd all hugged him and clapped him on the back and told him how incredible he was, it had disappeared completely.


	8. Doctor Doctor

**According to Encyclopedia Titanica, there were three doctors on Carpathia who attended to First, Second and Third Class passengers. The Third class doctor was Dr. Árpád Lengyel (a Hungarian). I haven't given the doctor a name in this chapter.**

 **Today is April 12th. God bless the Titanic and all who sailed on her.**

Hope remained while survivors were being brought aboard, but as the last lifeboat was winched onto Carpathia's decks the hope fizzled out and died. All that were present was all that there were. No one else had survived.

Someone began to sob, setting off a cacophony of wails and cries that pierced the air like a thousand arrows. The true enormity, the finality of the Titanic tragedy was coming to light with the rising sun. To the east was the debris field with its floating dead and ghostly gatekeepers. No one wanted to look in that direction; it was too much of a horrible reminder. Even worse was the thought of the wreckage far below the drifting corpses, as though linked to them by a spiritual cord. So many dead. People who had been laughing and joking as they set off from Queenstown, excited to see the new world. Now they'd never see it. They were doomed to an eternity of broken dreams.

Spicer Lovejoy forced the negative thoughts out of his mind. What was the point of guilt? He had fought hard for his life even when he would have preferred to give up. He hadn't the strength to be a superhero. He had tried to help others briefly, as they passed. He had helped Miss Rose and Jack Dawson and they had helped him. But he couldn't stop the thoughts of women and children trapped aboard Titanic, steerage passengers kept at bay like rats. It was inhuman. Everyone deserved an equal chance at life, especially in a disaster of this magnitude.

Lovejoy hadn't treated people very well in the past. Lovejoy's motto had always been 'every man for himself'. He didn't know why- his parents had never mistreated him, his brother was a good kid who loved dogs. But for some reason, Lovejoy had never connected with them, or anyone come to that. He didn't hate them, but he wasn't sure that he loved them either, because he had no idea what love was. Even now, as he studied Brighid's profile with practiced stealth, he wasn't sure of his feelings in this precise moment.

Thumping Caledon Hockley had certainly been satisfying. He'd only intended the one blow to knock the wind out of those arrogant sails- the uppercut had come as a surprise even to him. His knuckles reminded him of his impulsiveness, they swelled to twice their size and throbbed so hard he had to bite his lip. The ship's doctor was going to have a field day, what with the frostbitten toes, banged up forehead and now 'Prizefighter's Fist'. He'd been given a stern talking to by an officer and then the incident was put to rest. Lovejoy had to hide a mischievous smirk at the thought of being told off for scrapping. Brighid's opinion of him had certainly risen- she was quite a tough cookie herself and had told him in no uncertain terms that she 'liked a man who stood up for others'.

But now it was time for grief and reflection. The Carpathia had become a ship of despair, its original passengers, innocently bound for Europe, embroiled in a tragedy they hadn't expected. They gave up their cabins, they shared their food, they doled out brandy, they comforted the bereaved. They put smiles on faces, however brief. They were angels, thought Lovejoy.

He had managed to keep Cal at bay, spotting the younger man once or twice more, glowering at him from the upper levels. The important thing was to keep Rose out of sight. She didn't want to see her former fiance ever again. She was frightened though she tried not to show it. Lovejoy wanted to give the diamond to the purser for safe keeping, but Rose was adamant it stayed with her. He couldn't quite understand why she wanted to keep Cal's coat unless it was warmer than it looked or reminded her of one or two pleasant memories. But the diamond stayed in her pocket and he didn't mention it again.

Doctors were checking the survivors in order of priority. There were people who had badly injured themselves jumping from the Titanic. There were people in a state of delirium who fought help, not knowing where they were. There were orphaned children and frail old people. There were people too weak to move who were examined where they lay. It seemed like an endless procession of casualties.

Eventually it was Lovejoy's turn. He and Brighid went to the sickbay together, although they were checked separately for modesty's sake. Lovejoy went in first. He removed his top coat and then his suit coat. He'd forgotten about the shoulder holster- it was as much a part of him as his own arm. The doctor was startled and pointed at the gun.

Lovejoy raised both arms in the air. "I'm terribly sorry," he said. "I'm a bodyguard... I was a bodyguard, for one of the passengers."

"Please remove it," the doctor ordered. "Slowly, if at all possible."

Lovejoy did as he was told and sat on the doctor's examination table in his vest and undershorts, feeling twelve years old. The sight of his feet made him feel sick. They had turned into horribly pale slabs of meat with dark, dead looking toes. Frostbite was no longer something to joke about. He had visions of losing both appendages and never walking again.

"This is a concern," the doctor muttered.

"Oh, really?" Lovejoy tried to sound nonchalant, but inside he was sweating.

The doctor manipulated Lovejoy's feet. The valet felt nothing except a vague movement in his upper legs. This was bad- very bad.

"Don't worry, you're not the first. Hopefully this is superficial, but you will need to keep them warm and wrapped up, which I will do for you shortly."

The medic them examined Lovejoy's forehead. "How did this happen?"

"A fight," said Lovejoy, almost proudly.

"Another one?"

"I did say I was a bodyguard."

The doctor smiled secretively. "It's people like you who keep people like me in business."

Lovejoy sank into a chastened silence. Violence wasn't really something to brag about.

"Just a shallow wound and a bit of a bruise. Nothing to worry about there. Anything else?"

Lovejoy presented his swollen knuckles with an apologetic twist of his lips. The doctor raised his eyebrows.

"Do you need an explanation?" Lovejoy asked.

"No," the doctor said decisively. "I think your feet are more important right now."

Brighid was pacing the outer room when Lovejoy emerged from the doctor's office on a cane. She clamped her hand over her mouth at the sight of his overly-bandaged feet and hand and the huge plaster on his head.

"Your turn," he said, not looking at all amused.

She went past him, giggling. As the doctor's door shut with a click, Lovejoy ripped the unecessary plaster off his forehead and sank into the nearest chair to wait for her. The other people in the room stared at him. He leaned his chin casually on his bandaged hand and said nothing, feigning innocence.

The doctor told Brighid to make herself comfortable but there was something in her gaze that made him uncomfortable. She was lower class and it showed in her uninhibited manner. She knew how he felt and he suspected she enjoyed it. He placed his stethoscope on her chest, over her thin cotton dress and full set of undergarments, and felt vaguely as if he were doing something lewd.

"How's the old ticker, doc?"

"Ticking nicely," he replied.

"It should be," she said with a grin. "Think I found me the one to make it beat faster."

The doctor checked her extremities and stood back with arms folded. "You seem healthy enough, Mrs. - ?"

She put her finger to her lips. " _Miss_ Murphy. But ask me again in a month or so and it might be different."

She hopped off the table with a throaty laugh and pulled on her outer garments before swanning out of his office with a flourish.

Jack and Rose went through the same examination process.

"You're surprisingly unharmed considering you were in the water for over an hour," the doctor told Jack. "Your pulse is fine, your've no frostbite, even your lungs sound clear."

"Fit as a fiddle," said Jack. "Always have been, always will be. I love life."

"A lot of people loved life, and look where they are now."

Jack stared at the doctor. "Jeez, doc. I'm sorry."

"Terrible tragedy," the doctor mused. "Terrible."

"I know," said Jack. "I didn't mean to sound happy. I'm not happy, I'm just trying to cope the best way I can. My friends died, but crying won't bring them back."

"Have you cried?"

Jack shook his head guiltily. "No."

The doctor finished his examination and handed Jack his pants and shirt. "You will," he said. "You will."

As if on cue, Jack felt the sting of tears in his eyes. He blinked them back, ran defensive fingers through his bangs and got dressed in silence. Suddenly he felt the presence of Fabrizio, Tommy and hundreds of others swirling around him, demanding to know why he wasn't with them. He stumbled into his pants, hooked the suspenders over his shoulders and left the room quickly, trying to shrug the ghosts away.

When it came to Rose's turn, she took off Cal's coat and hugged it tightly to her chest.

"I can't examine you if you don't put it down," said the doctor. "I'm a medic, Mrs. Dawson, I have seen everything there is to see, and many things I never want to see again. Trust me. Unless you have a secret pair of wings, this examination should take no more than a few minutes."

She smiled. "I don't have wings," she said, "but think I know some people who do."

After they had all been checked over, Lovejoy being the only one with obvious injuries, the four of them went out to sit on the deck. They found some deckchairs and joined a group of second class passengers at the stern of the ship. A box of biscuits was passed around and everyone ate hungrily. Cups of tea and coffee were provided. Jack warmed his hands around his mug and proclaimed that nothing had ever tasted so delicious.

"Nice down here without the toffs," said another survivor, a middle aged man with his wife by his side. "They're still keeping us apart, posh gits up there, the rest of us down here, not that we want to be contaminated, eh Beryl?"

"Oh do be quiet, Henry. At least we're alive."

An agreeable murmur rippled through the gathered survivors. Henry mumbled an apology and was quickly forgiven.

Rose caught Lovejoy's eye, asked a silent question as she nodded towards the bridge deck.

"Don't worry miss," he said. "Mr. Hockley won't bother you again if I have anything to do with it."

She looked him up and down and quirked an eyebrow. "With those injuries?"

Lovejoy raised a heavily bandaged foot. "One of these in the you-know-where and he'll never walk again."

"Lovejoy!"

He smirked into his tea, enjoying the sound of her laughter. Everyone was on a roller coaster of emotion, crying one minute, laughing the next. They called it Survivor Guilt, everything became magnified. His bandaged feet became a source of hilarity even though he could quite possibly lose his toes. Through grief and shock, the lower classes still made fun of the upper classes. No doubt the upper classes were all huddled together in one room with all the doors locked to keep the lice out. And the Carpathia rode the mighty ocean, and the sea was still studded with blocks of ice, and the dead were still dead.

And soon there was another ship on the horizon, and soon life would have to continue and they would have to leave the dead behind.


	9. A Little Less Conversation

The captain of the Carpathia held a service for the dead. Survivors grouped together, crossed themselves, whispered quiet prayers. In the shadows under the bridge deck, Jack allowed himself to cry as he remembered Fabrizio's wish to see the Statue of Liberty. Next to him, Rose's heart broke for the children, for the unfairness of it all, and for her mother. Next to Rose, Brighid sobbed for the sister and nephew she would never see again yet hated to leave behind. And next to her stood Lovejoy, a silent stone staring at the horizon, his hand resting lightly in the middle of Brighid's back, hoping it would offer some small comfort.

The service was very dignified and people thanked the captain when he finished. He stayed with them awhile and then returned to the bridge, his gaze set firmly ahead, but a little weary.

With a blast of her whistle, the Carpathia set off for New York. Other ships would collect the dead. It would take days to recover the corpses that had drifted for miles, and many would have to be reburied at sea. But Carpathia's job was to ferry the living- she had already gone over and above the call of duty. Her passengers and crew had done everything humanly possible. Now it was time to set sail.

Earlier in the day, Lovejoy sensed the restlessness in Rose and went walkabout. Clutching his cane, he went to 'have a nose around' the First Class section, as he put it. He returned half an hour later with a stern expression. Approaching Rose, he cleared his throat and said, "Your mother survived."

He watched Rose quizzically to see her reaction. She'd held it in, not wanting to cry.

"Are you sure? You saw her?"

Lovejoy nodded. Jack had instinctively moved closer to Rose, and Brighid had studied all three of them without saying a word.

"She was with Mr. Hockley in the lounge. They were talking rather animatedly. She looked upset. I saw them through a window- I didn't dare go in."

Rose had looked at Jack, hoping for all the answers, but he had merely shrugged.

"I am sure Mr. Hockley has told Mrs. Bukater that you... _perished_ ," the former valet said tactfully.

"Rose," Jack had said, gently. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to stay with you," she whispered, her eyes wide and a little fearful.

"That's what I want, too."

Torn between running to her mother and staying with Jack, Rose chose Jack. She would _always_ choose Jack. Biting back tears, she thanked Lovejoy in a soft voice and he promised her he wouldn't go near the First Class section again, not even for a smoke and a snifter of brandy. He did, however, manage to procure a small flask of the stuff, which he presented with a wink, allowing each of them to take a hefty slug. Rose had taken at least three huge swallows before Lovejoy wrestled the flask away from her and put it back in his pocket.

It soon became clear how enormous the ice field actually was. Jagged peaks pointed at the sky, huge gleaming slabs bumped together spawning ever more floating chunks. Passengers watched anxiously as Carpathia nosed her way around the perimeter and set a course that would add an extra day to the journey. Nobody cared how long it took _. Better safe than sorry._

Rose and Brighid separated from the men and took a stroll around the lower deck. Rose kept a shawl over her head to hide her face so that Caledon Hockley wouldn't spot her. Brighid said, "to hell with him, who cares if he sees you? It's none of his business any more." But Rose couldn't tell her about the diamond. Instead, she changed the subject.

"What about you and The Undertaker, then?"

Brighid smacked Rose's arm. "Behave yourself. 'The Undertaker' indeed."

"That's what I used to call him. Always following me around, reporting back to Cal."

"Well, missy- he wouldn't have had to if you'd been behaving yourself."

Rose felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She pulled the shawl further across her face, the diamond burning a hole in her pocket. "I'm not the girl for Cal," she protested. "Our ... union... was arranged. Nothing but a move up the social ladder for my mother."

"And you'd rather be down here with the rest of us?"

"I'd rather have my freedom."

Brighid smiled. "Everything has its price."

"I know," said Rose. "I'm starting to realise that."

Brighid glanced over at Jack and Lovejoy who were deep in conversation at the railing. The younger man leaned forward, arms waving to make his point, while the older man shook his head, remonstrating with the boy and pointing at the ocean.

"Would you look at them, still talking about the ice. You'd think they were ice experts."

"You do like him though, don't you?"

Brighid nodded. "I do, yes. I liked him on that very night he came down to Third Class. Of course I had to be drunk and mouthy. Terrible things I said to him, I blush to think of it. But under that stuffy suit there's a real man with a beating heart. I just don't think he knows it yet."

"For as long as he was employed by the Hockleys, I never saw him with anyone," said Rose. "He was married to his job. I don't think he even slept. He had eyes like a hawk, and just as cold. How he's changed, in a mere matter of hours."

"I doubt he'll have changed that much. Except for his allegiances. Where once he'd have killed for his master, now he'd die for you."

Rose grimaced at the thought. "I'd rather he didn't. Besides, why would I need a bodyguard?"

"He _needs_ some sort of position in life. I think he'd see it as an honour to serve you."

"I'm trying to get away from all that servitude nonsense. Nobody needs butlers. I can make my own damn tea." Rose imagined Lovejoy trailing after her with a tray of refreshments and a resigned look on his face.

"Well if you won't have him, I will."

"I think he's already yours," said Rose. "And I think you'll make him very happy."

"And yourself?" Brighid's eyes twinkled. "You have yourself a fine figure of a man right there, young Jack. Not quite reached his full potential yet, but when he does... phew! Look out, world!"

Now Rose blushed furiously, her face almost matching her hair. "We met in difficult circumstances... the worst possible. I don't mind admitting that the future frightens me a little, but I'm going to make a go of it with him, no matter what obstacles we face, nothing compares to what we just went though."

Brighid put her arm around Rose. "As long as you remember that, and don't argue over little things. There's going to be repercussions... we survivors will live with this for the rest of our days. But we owe it to those who didn't make it to live the best life we can."

"Adventure," said Rose, almost to herself. "That's what I want. Adventure."

"And love," said Brighid, gazing at Lovejoy. "Don't forget about love."

At the railing, the conversation had switched from the formation of icebergs to Carpathia's engine power to everything that had happened aboard Titanic before it hit the 'berg. Jack and Lovejoy were no longer enemies but neither had forgotten the handcuffs incident or Lovejoy's sadistic pleasure at tormenting the young lovers. Lovejoy's mumbled apology soothed Jack's ruffled ego, and Jack's mumbled apology for causing so much social upheaval was met with a satisfied grunt. After that, they moved on to the topic of women. It was obvious they wanted to talk about Rose and Brighid but in typical male fashion they covered several other 'conquests' first, in order for one to scope out the others' success in that department. After all, there was no point in discussing a particular topic, _any_ topic, with a man who was less educated on the matter.

It soon became apparent that Lovejoy's past topped anything Jack could come up with, which was hardly surprising given the age difference and Lovejoy's dubious career path. But while Jack was happy to talk about cavorting with French girls, Lovejoy was cagey on the subject of past loves. He muttered something about ' _what's done is done_ ' before staring off into the waves.

"Did someone break your heart?" asked Jack.

"You can't break something that isn't there."

"Bullshit, Lovejoy. Only people with broken hearts talk like that."

"No one broke my heart," Lovejoy repeated stubbornly.

"'Course not. You're too tough for that, right? Okay, whose heart did _you_ break?"

Lovejoy scowled at the passing ice flotilla. "I'm beginning to regret ever stepping on board the Titanic."

Jack snorted. "Do you realise how stupid that sounds?"

"I meant... " the former valet sighed heavily. "Never mind what I meant. It was quite the wrong thing to say."

Jack folded his arms on the rail and leaned his chin on his hands. "If you hadn't boarded the Titanic you'd never have met Brighid. She's nice, isn't she?"

"Hmm."

"Wow, don't sound so enthusiastic, you'll make everyone jealous."

"She is nice." Lovejoy fidgeted. "But I can't think what she sees in me. An old, unemployed cripple."

"Hey! Lovejoy. No complaining, remember?"

"I know. It's just... " Lovejoy's face tightened. "I'm starting to regret a lot of things. Life was perfectly ordered, and now it isn't. I haven't a clue what to do next. It's _very_ unsettling."

Jack put his hand on the older man's shoulder. "That's easy. Stay with us! You, Brighid, Rose and me. We'll all live together in Chippewa Falls."

Lovejoy raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure that'll work."

"Of course it will. You'll fit right in. Just don't punch anyone and you'll be fine." Jack flashed a white toothed grin that only made Lovejoy scowl.

"A man my age should have his future mapped out. And now I have nothing. I'm not complaining, I'm telling the truth. If only... " the valet looked away, his sentence hanging unfinished in the air.

"If only the ship hadn't sunk?"

"If she... if Miss Rose had only accepted what was on offer for her. Wealth, status, a life of absolute luxury. Who in their right mind turns that down?"

Jack could see the growing frustration, plain as day, on Lovejoy's face. "But then she would have been miserable."

"Someone always loses," Lovejoy said quietly. "I'm afraid that's life."

Jack frowned. "Having second thoughts about helping us?"

"No, of course not. Don't put words in my mouth."

"So it's better for a seventeen year old girl to be miserable than a fifty-whatever year old man. That's very brave of you, Lovejoy. Not what I'd expect to hear from you."

"Stop twisting everything I say."

"I'm not. You said it yourself. Someone always loses. As long as it's not Spicer Lovejoy, hey?"

"Stop it. I never meant... " Lovejoy puffed air through his nose. "It's done. It's over. I can't change the past any more than you can."

"If I could, I'd make sure the damned boat didn't sink."

"So would I," said Lovejoy. "Then we wouldn't be having this discussion. We wouldn't have the fate of a thousand people pushing us on, never allowing us to complain lest we be labelled 'ungrateful'." He leaned on his cane as the deck rose and fell and the icefield fell further behind them.

"C'mon, Lovejoy. It may be delayed shock or something, but don't be bitter. I'm sure there'll be times when we don't want to hear how lucky we are to be alive. But right now, we have to be the luckiest people on earth."

Lovejoy nodded, smiling sheepishly. "You're right. We are. We're the ones who get to continue on this godawful journey. Our deaths have only been delayed." He shook his head to indicate he wasn't being serious.

Jack turned his back to the sea, leaning his elbows on the railings. The wind blew his bangs across his eyes as he squinted at Lovejoy. "You have a chance to start again, completely afresh, with a woman who likes you and wants to be with you. Miss Murphy just lost her family. I don't mean to pry but she's gonna need someone strong to be there for her."

"I quite understand. I'm just not sure I'm the right man for that."

Jack slapped him on the back. "Sure you are."

The wind grew ever chillier. Lovejoy wiped his unwrapped hand across his face, smearing salt spray on his cheeks. "She was planning to jump, wasn't she? Miss Rose, I mean."

"Yes," said Jack. "But you knew that."

"It's funny, isn't it? First she went to the stern to die, and then she went to the stern to live. And you were there, both times."

"I know," said Jack. "I'm responsible for her now."

They both paused for thought, letting the wind whip their hair, unconsciously counting the blocks of ice. Finally Jack spoke up.

"Rose isn't cut out for first class life. She's not a bird to be kept in a cage for the amusement of others. They were wrong for each other. No one should be forced into anything because of social status. Oh sure, it's all silver spoons and la-di-da but they don't know real love, only the love of money. Rose was a pawn in their game. She knew it, I knew it and you definitely knew it."

Lovejoy turned to Jack at last. "Look," he said vehemently. "I had a job to do. Don't you understand? We can't all gallivant around France painting naked prostitutes. My job was to protect Caledon Hockley under orders of Nathan Hockley, the steel magnate. And I did that job to the best of my ability. I don't need to be told anything by some wet behind the ears twenty year old."

"Jeez Lovejoy, 'wet behind the ears'?"

Lovejoy thumped the railing. "There's no point talking to you anymore."

Jack smiled. "I heard everything you said. You're still that guy. You saved Rose, you protected her, you found out her mother survived, you've kept our group together. You're still doing that job, Lovejoy. And I bet _we_ appreciate it a darn sight more than the Hockleys, even if we can't pay you squillions of dollars."

Lovejoy harrumphed. "The money wasn't _that_ great," he confessed.

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" said Jack.

Lovejoy cast a sidelong glance at the younger man. "You do remind me of myself, just a little. I was never quite as cheerful as you, which won't surprise you either, but once I got the bit between my teeth, I didn't stop until I got what I wanted. You're the same. It's probably why I have the urge to smack some sense into you." He smiled again, the picture of benevolence.

"Gee, thanks. That's quite a compliment."

Lovejoy lapsed back into silence. "Do you think I might be in with a chance?" he asked, finally. "With Miss Murphy?"

"Do I think?" Jack tried hard not to laugh. "She's crazy about you, Lovejoy. She really is. I think you struck gold."

"She barely knows me!"

"Then work on it! Stop being so mysterious! I dunno... kiss her, or something!"

Lovejoy's expression turned grim. "Please tell me again why I should be taking relationship advice from a boy barely out of his teens."

"A. Because you asked, B. Because he knows better than you. He sees the way she looks at you. And the way you look at her, trying not to be obvious. If you let her slip through your fingers we'll never forgive you. Rose is already planning your wedding."

Lovejoy jumped back, startled. "Good Lord. I have no words."

Jack looked past his shoulder. "Then you'd better find some real quick because they're coming back. What were we talking about? Hydraulic pistons?"

"You're not helping," grumbled Lovejoy, plastering a quick smile on his face as the women rejoined them. "Did you enjoy your walk, ladies?"

"Yes," said Brighid, "it was lovely. Under different circumstances this would be quite a delightful vessel."

Jack laughed at her airs and graces. "You sound like you came straight from afternoon tea."

"We thought about trying to sneak up there but it was too risky for Rose. Besides, I don't think I cut the mustard in these old rags."

Lovejoy smiled at her. "You look beautiful, my dear," he declared, unexpectedly.

Jack's eyes widened and Rose's mouth fell open. Brighid turned scarlet, twirling around and batting her eyelashes. "Why, thank you, kind sir."

"Woo, _Lovejoy_!" said Jack. "That was very smooth!"

Rose nudged Jack in the ribs, shushing him.

Lovejoy pushed himself away from the railings and said to Brighid, "Perhaps I ought to take a turn around the deck. The doctor did advise me to stay active to improve the circulation to my feet." He smiled impishly, causing Brighid to laugh out loud. She slipped her hand through his arm and rested it lightly on his inner elbow.

"We must keep your circulation going at all costs, Mr. Lovejoy. I take it you still have that brandy on you?" She looked at him, hopefully.

Lovejoy patted his pocket, raised a sly eyebrow.

"Come on then my old man," Brighid said. "Let's find somewhere to have a dram and leave the young ones to it."

Jack took Rose into his arms as Lovejoy and Brighid departed. "He was getting depressed but I managed to drag him out of it," Jack said, kissing the top of Rose's head.

"Depressed about what?"

"He's worried about the future. But I told him everything will work out just fine."

Rose snuggled into Jack's embrace, closing her eyes as her cheek rested on his shoulder. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," said Jack. "Don't you?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "As long as I'm with you, Mr. Dawson."

Jack tilted her face towards his. "Then kiss me, Mrs. Dawson, because I'm never going to let you go."

"Gladly," said Rose, and she did.


	10. When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Carpathia teemed with humanity from top to bottom. Titanic survivors were quite easily discernible from Carpathia passengers but all were cared for just the same. People clutched coffee cups and mugs of soup while hot meals were prepared in the dining rooms. Amid the rhythmic lapping of waves and steady thrum of engines, the atmosphere on Carpathia was settling. People clustered together in groups, talking as though they were old friends. If it weren't for the poignant sight of crumpled lifejackets heaped beside empty lifeboats bearing Titanic's name, it could well have been any voyage going anywhere.

It was warmer in the deck housing, so Lovejoy took Brighid inside for their stroll. They walked past the busy Second Class lounge and saw rows of makeshift beds being prepared for the survivors. Brighid clung to his arm, looking for familiar faces, but found none.

"Where are all my friends?" she murmured. "I can't have been the only one of us who got out."

"I'm sure you'll run into someone soon," said Lovejoy, not really knowing what to say. He hadn't acquired many friends throughout his life, he tended to pick up and discard according to his wants and needs. But he could see the pain on Brighid's face and knew she had been emotionally attached to the people she searched for. The old Lovejoy would have scoffed at her frailty, but the enormity of Titanic had put him firmly in his place. There was no room in the new Lovejoy for malice or spite. He let her take all the time she needed before resuming their walk.

They ventured down elegant corridors lined with cabin doors that ejected passengers and swallowed others, a giant beehive in motion. The library, surprisingly large and well stocked, hummed with quiet conversation as more beds were set up there. Lovejoy and Brighid stood in the doorway as crew members came and went.

"Looks cosy," said Brighid. "Which ones shall we bag?"

Lovejoy kept his expression as neutral as possible. "I don't think they'll bunk men and women together," he said primly.

"What about married men and women?"

"That's different."

"Mmm," she mused in a voice just loud enough for him to hear. "What a pity we're not married."

With a shake of his head, Lovejoy steered her away from prurient thoughts and into the hallway. They hadn't got far before they stumbled on a pair of Titanic survivors embracing outside a cabin door, standing silently together like a little island of two.

"Awfully sorry," Lovejoy murmured as he almost bumped into them.

"No need to apologise," the man said with a smile. "We're alive, aren't we?" He gazed into his lover's eyes; beside him Lovejoy heard a faint sigh come from Brighid's lips. "I thought I'd never see dear Leigh again. But we made it, didn't we, my darling?"

"Yes, Lawrence, we did," the woman replied, her large eyes soft and moist.

"Out of tragedy comes triumph," Lovejoy observed, blushing as the couple kissed passionately before disappearing inside the cabin without another word.

"That man looked like a younger you," said Brighid, stifling yet another giggle at Lovejoy's profuse embarrassment. "Goodness, I do hope they're married."

"I shall have to pour cold water over you if you're not careful," said Lovejoy.

"I can't help it," she teased. "You bring out the beast in me. You and your sidearm and your lightning fists. You're quite a catch, Mr. Lovejoy."

"And you, Miss Murphy, are an incorrigible flirt."

They walked through Second Class, marveling at how elegant it was. Burnished oak panels lined the men's smoking room, tasteful, feminine decor gave the ladies' lounge a cheery glow. On the surface there seemed to be no snobbery or class distinction. Crew members ignored the presence of a third class passenger and waved them on their way.

Before long, a kind young woman approached Brighid and offered her the use of a powder room and fresh clothing. Brighid's face lit up.

"Oh, let me freshen up, Mr. Lovejoy. Oh, the thought of warm water and soap... !"

Lovejoy nodded, wishing someone would make the same offer to him. As though reading his mind, the woman turned to him and said that if he went to the second class lounge he might find some fresh clothes there for himself.

"Someone will always have what you need," she said. "The men are handing out straight razors like you wouldn't believe. They have a regular barber shop going on in there!"

Lovejoy and Brighid agreed to meet up outside the dining room in an hour, and then parted company. Brighid went with the smiling young woman, her delighted voice warming Lovejoy's heart as he listened to her go. He pondered the existence of his heart. Everyone appeared to believe he did indeed possess such an organ. He supposed he needed a pump to keep the blood flowing but he doubted it served any other purpose, let alone a vague, ephemeral one. Still, there was a feeling of fullness in his chest that made him feel quite light headed, and it seemed to get worse when Brighid was around- and also when she wasn't. He hurried to the lounge as quickly as he could, virtually shunning the use of his cane, eager to be among his own kind and not the kind that made you doubt yourself.

Brighid sighed happily as she cupped warm water in her hands and sluiced it over her face. She washed herself thoroughly with the use of a large, squishy sponge and a generous bar of scented soap. If this was Second class, then what must First class be like? But she longed for nothing more than this. Second class treated her like a decent human being, lifting her to their level instead of beating her down with the rats. She was so very grateful. The feel of soap and water was heavenly. The scent of steerage trickled down to the floor and away through a small drainage hole, down to the bilges where it belonged.

After a leisurely wash, Brighid emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a powder blue towel. She grinned at the young woman, who had introduced herself as Felicity. "But you can call me Fliss," she said. "Felicity is such a mouthful, I don't know what my parents were thinking. Then again, they're called Persephone and Idlewild."

"They aren't!"

"They are."

Fliss then set about dressing Brighid. Declaring her too thin for a corset, she gave her a set of modest undergarments and let her choose her own dress, a primrose yellow frock that suited her skin shade and brought out the bright gold tones in her dark brown eyes and hair. Opaque, ivory stockings adorned her legs, smart shoes hugged her feet and a silk shawl wrapped around her shoulders completed the look of simple elegance. Fliss combed out her hair, spritzed it with a light fragrance, piled it up on her head and wound a bandana around it.

"There," she said, propelling Brighid towards the mirror. "How's that?"

Brighid studied her reflection and sighed. "I look like a real lady. Mr. Lovejoy won't recognise me."

"Oh, I think he will," said Fliss with a laugh. "I think he will."

Lovejoy thought that being in the company of men would ground him somewhat but he was only half right. As he listened to the various topics of conversation, his mind kept wandering back to Miss Murphy. In his old life he would not have looked twice at a steerage passenger but he remembered the gaggle of women at the bottom of the stairs who egged him on to drink and he couldn't help smiling as he recalled Brighid being the one who laughed at him the most.

Something had happened to him that night, just as it had happened to Miss Rose. It wasn't the first time he had been drunk, nor the first time he'd been propositioned by a woman. But it was the first time he'd been completely accepted by the company he kept. He wasn't a valet, he wasn't a henchman, he wasn't the hired muscle. He was simply Spicer Lovejoy.

He was shown to the mens' restrooms where he washed himself down, treated himself to a shave and combed his greying hair. The cut on his forehead was healing nicely but he pulled a few strands forward just so it wouldn't be too noticeable. He practiced smiling in the mirror until someone caught him and then he pretended he was examining his teeth. He unwrapped his hand and flexed his fingers, decided it didn't need to be bandaged anymore. He sat down on a wooden bench and carefully examined his feet, winced at the sight of his toes, still a strange colour but perhaps not as bad as he'd expected. He could feel his own touch on his soles and heels which was a good sign as he hadn't been able to before.

"You'll be all right, old chap," said a young fellow who was shaving his chin and looking at Lovejoy in the mirror. "As long as the rest of you works, eh?" He gave a knowing chuckle that made Lovejoy roll his eyes.

He put the wrapping back on his feet and got dressed in a separate cubicle. The shoulder holster went on, even though he was no longer an enforcer. He took out the gun, his Emily, and held her in both hands, remembering how well she had served him. He removed the clip and put it in another pocket. Now there was no danger of anyone stealing her from him and going on a shooting spree the way Caledon Hockley had done.

Lovejoy arrived early at the dining room. The smell of coffee and bacon made his mouth water as he sat down to wait for Brighid. He spent the time people watching and looking at his knuckles. The swelling had subsided, there was just a slight blue tinge to them to remind him of just how hard he'd swung.

After a while he realised someone was standing in front of him. A woman wearing smart shoes, a yellow dress and ivory stockings. He blinked and looked up.

"Well?" asked Brighid. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Lovejoy's throat went dry. He stood up immediately, taking both her hands in his. "You look- " he paused, taking in her upswept hair and bright, shining face, and filled his nostrils with her fresh, sweet scent."Spectacular."

"And so do you," she said happily. "You look ten years younger. Very distinguished."

"I mean it," he insisted. "You look absolutely stunning."

"I feel it," she said with a delighted laugh at the admiration on his face. "I feel absolutely wonderful."

"And so you should. Because you are. You are more beautiful and more worthy than any of those pasty faced First Class wastrels."

Brighid batted his chest coyly. "Shall we dine, Mr. Lovejoy?"

"I believe we shall," said Lovejoy, taking her arm.

Lovejoy escorted Brighid into the dining room where the tables were packed with hungry survivors. They were seated immediately by attentive crew members while others walked around with steaming pots of coffee and plates piled high with food. Lovejoy smiled at Brighid, feeling ever so slightly formal, as though they were on a dinner date rather than fulfilling the basic need to eat.

"Nice here, isn't it?" he said, trying to stifle the loud rumbles of his stomach.

"Very nice. Proper posh. Posher than what I'm used to anyway."

"When we reach land, I shall take you to the Waldorf."

"Does the Waldorf do corned beef and cabbage?"

"I should imagine they would if you asked. Of course you'd have to eat it on fine china and drink your Guinness from a crystal goblet."

Brighid grinned widely, fixing him with a combative stare. "You're getting cheekier by the minute," she said. "So much for upward mobility."

"It's you," he replied promptly. "You bring out the beast in me."

A waft of fresh, sizzling bacon reaced their nostrils.

"We should have brought Rose and Jack with us," said Brighid, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

"I would imagine they had _other_ plans," said Lovejoy, surprising himself with his audacity.

"My word. A shave and a scrub and you're anybody's."

He picked up his napkin and flicked it out. "Let's not get carried away," he said, biting back a smirk.

Plates were brought to their table, coffee cups were filled, water was poured. Brighid stared at the mound of eggs, bacon and bread in front of her.

"I don't know where to start," she said. "Is it ladylike to just dig in?"

Lovejoy was already chopping up his eggs and tucking in his tie. "On the count of three?"

Brighid shovelled a heap of food into her mouth. "Too late," she mumbled.

They ate ravenously, along with everyone else in the room. Lovejoy piled bacon onto bread and made himself a sandwich that he used to wipe up grease and crumbs of egg. Between bites he swallowed coffee, not caring that it was so hot it burned his throat. He'd never been so hungry, even when he'd first left home and struggled to make ends meet. His entire body was hungry, every inch of him needed to be nourished and watered, like a plant left to wither. He was so hungry he forgot about conversation. He figured Brighid was just as hungry. She was so thin; he wondered when she'd last had a decent meal.

Mid chew, he noticed that she had stopped eating although there was still food on her plate. Her mood had changed. Head bowed and eyes obscured, she seemed to be lost inside herself. He swallowed quickly, cursing himself for not noticing sooner. He put down his sandwich and asked her if anything was wrong.

"I forgot to say grace. I forgot to thank God. And I wish Rosemary and Michael were here. Michael so loved his food. It isn't fair- it really isn't. He was just a child."

Lovejoy wiped his hands on his napkin and reached across the table, his fingertips stopping just short of her hand. "Please don't cry," he said gently. "They wouldn't want you to be sad. You said you felt their spirits, didn't you?"

"Yes," she replied, reaching for his hand with one tentative finger. "But now I don't. I think I was just deluding myself, trying to convince myself they were still somehow alive. I have faith in God, but I just want proof. If I could only see them, their faces, if they could only give me a sign that it's all right to move on." She hooked her fingers around his and he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

"It _is_ all right," he told her.

"We were holding hands, you know," she continued softly. "I had a hold of Rosemary, she had a hold of Michael. Everyone stormed up the stairs. The gate was closed on us. They broke it down and everyone stampeded. It was pure pandemonium. And somehow, I let go." She raised her eyes to his at last. "I didn't do enough."

"But you did," he insisted. "You thought of others. What else could you have done?"

"Stayed with them," she said. "To the bitter end."

"No," said Lovejoy, squeezing her hand. "They wouldn't want that. And neither do I." He looked into her eyes, noticed they were dry, as though she'd cried all her tears and had nothing left inside her. "Yes, life can be unfair. Very unfair. But you're not alone and I'll make sure you never are."

She smiled, and the light in her eyes switched on again. "Thank you," she said. "And you? Are you alone?"

He looked at their joined hands, felt the beat of that thing inside his chest that was turning into a heart. "Not anymore," he said. "Now, please finish your food. I won't settle until you do."

"I've never been a heavy eater," she insisted.

"Please," he said. "You need to eat. It'll help us both."

Brighid dutifully picked up her fork ate her eggs and bread and shared the rest of her bacon with him.

They finished their meal and went topside again. The wind was picking up, threading chilly fingers through their hair. The ice field had thinned out, the water black and choppy. The sky was darkening with clouds. Lovejoy looked up, sensing rain, and a passing crewman confirmed his thoughts.

"We may be in for a squall. But don't worry, sir. She's been through plenty of those. Sit tight and stay warm, everything will be fine."

Lovejoy nodded. He and Brighid found seating in the shelter of the deckhouse and Lovejoy produced the flask of brandy from his pocket. Brighid sipped first, then handed it back to him. "Sláinte," he said, impressing her with his Irish. The warm liquid burned a trail to his stomach and settled there like glowing embers.

"We're powerless against the elements, aren't we?" she said. "We small creatures, with all our hopes and dreams. We're nothing compared to all this."

"The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry," he quoted. "And leave us naught but grief and pain for promised joy."

"Promised joy." She looked at the horizon, now blurred against the dark grey sky, and accepted the flask, tilting it against her lips while Lovejoy fidgeted with his hands. "I don't think there's anything more cruel than a broken promise." She wiped her lips and gave him the flask. He drained it dry, tasting her mouth along with the last drops of brandy.

"I wonder if they do refills?" he mused, staring at the empty container.

"Mr. Lovejoy, don't start dancing on tables again. I'm a lady now, I'll be mortified."

He put the flask back in his pocket. "I'm full anyway," he said. "In fact I might nod off in a minute."

"Don't you dare go to sleep and leave me here talking to myself."

"I won't," he said. "I've spent many a night on my feet, doing my duty. I know how to stay awake." With that, he yawned widely, remembering to cover his mouth with his hand.

"You divil," she said, inching her chair towards his. "I'll poke you if you start snoring."

Lovejoy dared to reach out towards Brighid to fold her shawl closer around her shoulders. "We'll go back inside if you get cold," he said kindly.

"I'm all right, my love," she said, patting one of his hands. "I'm right where I need to be."

They spent a few moments in easy silence. There were people braving the open deck, staring ahead of the bows. Men stood smoking at the railings, cigarettes pinched between gloved fingers. Women clutched their hats, ringlets of hair whipping in the wind. Somewhere nearby, a baby was crying. Lovejoy wondered briefly where Rose and Jack had gone. Like the couple kissing in the doorway, he was sure they had found somewhere to be alone.

Brighid's hand crept towards his. He was getting used to the feel of her thin finger bones pressed against his knuckles, her soft palm grazing the callouses on his thumb pad; hard nubs of thickened skin gained from years of brandishing a gun. There were things he'd never tell her, things he'd hidden from himself for so long. There were things she didn't need to know, things he'd done but would never do again. The old Lovejoy had been soulless and cruel. He had put people in hospital and broken up families just like Brighid's. He had destroyed lives and worse, he had enjoyed it. He had worked for wicked men and had become wicked himself. But he would never be that way again. He had one job now, and that was to live for all the people who had died. And in so doing, perhaps he could right a few wrongs and learn to forgive himself.

Brighid had turned in her seat and was looking at him. The flecks of gold in her brandy-warmed eyes pulled him down into a swirling pool of unfamiliar emotion. She looked so much like Ruby. Was he being given a second chance?

"What are ye thinking?" she asked softly.

"Lots of things," he admitted. "Many that I'd rather forget."

"Then let's forget them, you and I. Let the wind bear them away."

"Up, up, up," said Lovejoy, remembering Miss Rose lying frozen on the floating door, singing about someone called Josephine.

"Up into the stars, up and away they go. All the bad thoughts, gone. May God bless and keep Mr. Lovejoy safe from snares of the devil, from temptations of vices, from every one who desires him ill. Now, and forever more. May God bless this day of new beginnings."

Lovejoy felt warm and alive and reborn. If he'd missed out on years of happiness he didn't care because he'd found it now, and maybe this was the right time. He was beginning to know himself. He was ready to share his life. And far from being depressed by the collapse of the old order, he felt weightless and free, the old bark stripped away to reveal fresh, new growth. Titanic had been a terrible disaster but it had changed him in ways he had never expected. He wasn't going to dishonour the dead. He was going to be someone she could be proud of.

He wondered if he ought to ask for permission to kiss her, but his question dissolved into the ether at the precise moment that her lips touched his, putting an end to all doubt.


	11. Spy in the House of Love

**Thanks to B.E for suggesting that Cal comes back to make this 'one-shot ha ha' even longer. Lbr, I'd be happy to write about Spicer Lovejoy forever but I have this silly thing in my head that stories must have middle bits and conclusions... I know, crazy, huh. Rule No. 1 of fanfiction: There are no rules. Write what you want for as long as you want, for as long as it makes you happy. U.U**

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

― Jane Austen, Pride And Prejudice

oOoOoOo

With eyes closed and Brighid's soft lips on his, Lovejoy thought he would swell and burst with the flood of sensations that poured into him, breaking down his defences, gushing into his heart and mind. His scalp prickled with heat. He thought he could sit here forever, touching just so, with his hand cupping her face and hers on the back of his neck, scratching him lightly with one fingernail until spots danced in front of his eyes. When at last they parted, he noticed that her eyes were heavy, the lips he had kissed seeming plumper somehow, drawing his gaze to the tiny gap between them. There was more intimacy and longing in this one quiet moment than he had ever known in his life. He struggled to keep his wits about him.

"You have hidden talents, Mr. Lovejoy." She smiled at him and the slight hitch in her breath made him feel faint.

"I believe it takes two," he replied, wishing he were smarter, quicker, and wittier.

She took her hand away from his neck, leaving cool air to reclaim the warm spot. She sat back, her cheeks glowing like red apples, and smoothed her dress over her knees, which were pressed together and turned slightly towards him. He already wanted to kiss her again, to inhale the warm scent of her cheek, but he didn't dare. He laid his head on the back of his chair then looked up at the gathering clouds. No rain had fallen yet but the air was brisk and vaguely metallic.

"We ought to go in," he said, "if the weather's on the turn."

She squeezed his hand lightly. "It's less crowded out here."

His face felt hot. He was a gentleman and must behave like one, but he was finding it hard to breathe. "Perhaps we can find the others and have a game of cards."

"Cards." She looked at him, her eyes twinkling.

"What else do you suggest?"

She looked down at her knees, suppressing a flirty chuckle. "I think you know very well, Mr. Lovejoy."

"Charades?" he prompted. "Forfeits?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Keep going."

"I daren't," he confessed.

Her face softened and she stopped teasing him. "Is it because you might be thinking the same thing?"

He nodded.

"And what's holding you back?"

He took a deep breath laced with the brine of the ocean. "Responsibility," he told her. "We can't just throw caution to the wind. We're old enough to know better."

"We've not done too badly for a couple of old codgers so far."

"We're hardly old. _You_ certainly aren't."

"Mr. Lovejoy. There's nothing you can do or say that'll shock me. Human beings are just animals with clothes on, even those powdered pansies in First class. You don't have to be shy or worried about saying the wrong thing. I was three sheets to the wind when ye first met me." She laughed at his bemused expression. "Perhaps you were too sozzled to recall where your hands were."

Lovejoy spluttered indignantly. "I am sure I did not- "

"You did. You lifted me right off my feet."

"Please tell me that I otherwise behaved myself," he asked with a loud gulp.

"Don't worry, we managed to prevent an outright scandal. But if you're trying to be all repressed and gentlemanly now, it's too late." She winked at him and playfully tugged his hair. "I liked what I saw from the first minute, and there's no getting around it. All we're doing is delaying the inevitable."

Lovejoy leaned his head closer to hers until they were almost touching. "About that refill," he said, patting his pocket. "I feel the need to take the edge off my embarrassment and shame."

She smiled with those lips that he couldn't get enough of. "That sounds lovely."

"I'll purloin some candy as well."

She laughed. "Go ahead, my love. Do what you men do, but be back soon. I feel strangely bereft without you by my side."

Lovejoy balanced on his cane and stood up. He took off his topcoat, folded it up and put it on his chair so that Brighid wouldn't look as though she were alone. "Use it if you get cold," he said, "if you don't want to come inside."

"I'm half inside already," she told him. "I'm just not in the mood for the hustle and bustle. I like the fresh air."

Lovejoy looked down at her, his brow furrowed.

"Go on," she insisted. "I've plenty to think about to pass the time."

Lovejoy walked to the end of the deck, looked back once to see her smiling and waving, then entered the hatch to Second class. Just inside the passage, leaning against the bulkhead with his arms folded as though waiting for him, stood Caledon Hockley. The smile fell from Lovejoy's face to be replaced by a look of contempt.

"How sweet," said Cal with an oily smile. "Spicer Lovejoy has himself a lady friend. Not that I'd call her a lady. How much does she charge?"

Lovejoy gripped the handle of his cane so tightly his knuckles went white. "What are you doing here?" he hissed.

"I came to see the world you live in now. Without the Hockley name to lean on. Can't say I'm impressed. I really thought you'd do better."

"We are no longer associates," Lovejoy growled. "I owe you nothing."

"On the contrary," Hockley said, pushing himself away from the wall. "You stole my diamond and I want it back."

"I didn't steal it. You offered it as a reward for 'taking care' of the Dawson boy and your fiance, the girl you claimed to love. As far as I know, it went down with the ship. I certainly don't have it."

Hockley's face twisted into a sneer. "You're lying. I know you, Mr. Lovejoy. Lying is second nature to you. You've got it somewhere and I want it back."

Lovejoy stepped closer to his former employer. "I don't have it," he said, enunciating every word slowly and clearly. "Now step out of my way."

Hockley moved a belligerent couple of inches to the left so that Lovejoy couldn't pass without their shoulders brushing.

"Did you shoot her?" Hockley asked.

Lovejoy stopped dead. He remembered pointing the gun at Rose. "No, I did not."

"So you left her there to drown. How brave."

" _You_ left her there," said Lovejoy, looking straight ahead. " _You_ shot at her. You lost her, Mr. Hockley. You lost her as soon as she met Dawson."

Cal stood behind him, staring at his back. "What happened to loyalty, Lovejoy? What made you change? I could always count on you. What happened between then and now to make you hate me?"

"I don't hate you," said Lovejoy. "I feel nothing for you at all. And I don't have your ridiculous diamond. Now go back to First class and leave me alone."

Hockley walked up to Lovejoy and said in a sing-song voice, "Poor Lovejoy, how the mighty have fallen. Once he stood proud, now he hobbles with a stick. What a shame you won't be able to pay for surgery."

"I don't need surgery. My feet are fine. The doctor was just being cautious." Lovejoy kept his eye on Hockley as the younger man passed him then faced him head on. "I was in the water for well over an hour. You wouldn't know about that, of course. I doubt you got a single strand of hair wet as you clambered over other passengers to get into a boat."

Hockley's eyes burned into Lovejoy like hot coals. "Don't try to act superior to me, Lovejoy. I'm worth a hundred of those lower class rats. I'd even go so far as to say that death did most of them a favour."

"You're despicable."

"So are you, Lovejoy. You're a two-faced traitor. And if I find out you're lying to me about the diamond, so help me God I will make sure you never walk again. I'm not powerless without you, man. I know plenty of other people, and some of them are upstairs."

"Are you threatening me, Mr. Hockley?"

"No," said Cal, quietly seething. "I'm promising you."

More people came into the passageway and prevented further discourse between the two men. Cal Hockley swivelled on his heel and left, leaving Lovejoy bristling with anger. Quickly he strode to the men's smoking room where he knew he would find some brandy. The room was crowded, rich with the aroma of tobacco. No one saw him lift an entire glass decanter from a tray and slink into a corner to fill up his flask. His hands shook slightly but only because he was so annoyed. How long had Hockley been there? Had he seen Lovejoy kiss Miss Murphy? Not that it mattered. Not that it _should_ matter. Not that anything should be so important after their night of tragedy. But the old order of things was creeping in. The old social structure and the old games that people played, as though they hadn't learned a thing from their experience. As long as Hockley was still connected to him by that bloody diamond, Lovejoy knew he hadn't seen the last of him yet.

When he finally returned to Brighid, his pockets filled with sweets and cigars, he found her fast asleep in her deck chair with his topcoat wrapped around her like a blanket. The sight made his heart melt. He tried to put all thoughts of Caledon Hockley out of his mind and settled down next to her, wondering if he ought to wake her up or leave her be. The promised squall had not yet materialised but the taste of it was in the air and the waves bore white crests as they scudded by. Carpathia cut smoothly through the water with minimum pitch or roll, rising and falling just enough to send a patiently waiting lady to sleep.

"I'm back," he said quietly. "Sorry I took so long. Ran into an old acquaintance, unfortunately."

As it turned out, she was awake. She smiled with her eyes closed. "Did you do any damage?"

"Not this time," he said, unscrewing the top of the flask. "But I may as well warn you- as long as we're all on this ship together, he is not going to let this go. He thinks I have something of his." He took a large swallow of brandy and grit his teeth against the fire.

Her eyes opened and looked at him quizzically. "Do you?"

"No," he said. "But Miss Rose does."

Brighid refused the offer of brandy, opting instead to pluck a candy very delicately out of his pocket. The brief placement of her hand drove all thoughts of being a traitor from his mind. She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth.

"Is it something important?" she asked, rolling the sweet around with her tongue.

"Yes," he said, tugging his collar as he watched her a little more intently than was necessary.

"Well? Are you going to tell me?"

"I don't want you to choke."

"Try me."

Lovejoy gulped more brandy, catching a drop from his lower lip before it spattered onto his tie. "It's a diamond necklace. A rather important one. It was an engagement gift for Miss Rose before she broke things off. My last job aboard Titanic was to find her and get it back. I told him it's at the bottom of the ocean along with her and the Dawson boy."

"But Rose still has it."

"Yes."

Brighid sucked her sweet while fixing him with a conspiratorial smile. "We must keep him from finding her at all costs, even if I have to sit in a cabin with her for the rest of the journey."

"I'm so sorry to drag you into all this."

She finished her sweet and licked her teeth. "What do you think I am, a decoration for your arm? No, Mr. Lovejoy. I'm a damned sight more than that, so get used to it."

Lovejoy's chest swelled with pride and the need to protect her from harm. He hated the thought of Cal looking at her, leering at her in any way. Judging her based on her class and not on the beauty of her generous nature. On her poverty and not the way she held herself with elegance and grace. On her slight, underfed frame and not her courage or the sparkle in her eyes that remained even though she'd lost the people she loved. Rose and Jack might be fugitives but she was not. He didn't think Caledon Hockley would be stupid enough to come after her to hurt him- Lovejoy, but he wasn't going to let it get that far. He'd die before he let a Hockley harm a single hair on her head.

She reached for another candy but he stopped her hand in mid air, threading their fingers together.

"That diamond could secure all of our futures," he said in a low voice. "He mustn't get his hands on it."

She saw the seriousness of his expression and nodded. "Don't worry, I can keep a secret." She lowered her voice, adding, "Pinkerton all the way."

Lovejoy stared at her for almost a full ten seconds. "How did you know I was a Pink?"

"I asked around. You see, Mr. Lovejoy, you're not the only detective around here."

Lovejoy smiled at the memories the name Pinkerton conjured up. He'd been a formidable opponent while working for the famous Detective Agency, dealing with men ten times more dangerous than the Hockleys who shot first and asked questions later. 'Pinks' were no shrinking violets- they were hard and tough and there was no reason why Lovejoy should change _all_ of his ways. Besides, he had a feeling Brighid liked that side of him. Liked it rather a lot.

"We Never Sleep," he said. "That was our motto."

"There's another saying. 'Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Of course, I could drive him away simply by smiling at him and giving him the plague."

"I wasn't driven away by your smile."

"You're different. You're from the streets, you've the mind of a cobra. That's what I like about you." She reached up and touched the side of his face. "It'll be a day or two before we reach land. We can thank your man for keeping our minds sharp while we wait."

"The first thing we must do is find Miss Rose," he murmured, beginning to lose what little mind he had left as she ran her fingers over his cheek.

"No. The second thing we must do is find Miss Rose."

"Then what's the first?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

"Come here and I'll show you," she said, pulling gently on his chin.

oOoOoOo

The promised squall had arrived, finally forcing Lovejoy and Brighid into the shelter of the deckhouse. Sheets of icy rain blew sideways across the bows while Carpathia rode the waves like a thoroughbred mare. Flashes of lightning danced from cloud to cloud, frightening Titanic survivors who searched through portholes for the slightest sign of 'bergs even though the ship was well clear of the icefield. Everyone wanted to watch the storm. They gasped at the lightning and laughed nervously at the thunder, audible even above the rumble of engines. Crewmen went around telling everyone they'd be all right, there was no danger. Men were on lookout, the Captain was at the helm. Children ran around excitedly- to them it was all a grand adventure. Lovejoy gripped Brighid's hand tightly as they commenced the hunt for Jack and Rose.

After half an hour of non-stop questioning, they found the young lovers sitting at a porthole in the library. Rose turned to them, her face smiling and serene. It was clear to Lovejoy that she'd enjoyed her afternoon in just the way that he'd suspected. For a brief moment he longed for the impulsiveness of youth before he and Brighid pulled up two chairs and sat down beside them, exchanging pleasantries and greetings and tactfully skirting the subject of where they had been and what they had been doing.

"I've something to tell you," said Lovejoy, eyes darting from one bright, smiling face to the other. "It's important, so you must listen. Caledon Hockley is still on the prowl- we had another confrontation. He wants the diamond and doesn't believe that I don't have it." He suddenly noticed Rose wasn't wearing Cal's coat. "Where is it?" he demanded, a little briskly.

"Back in the cabin," she said, eyes wide.

"What cabin? Is anyone else there?"

"No," said Jack. "We managed to get our own quarters by telling the steward we're married."

Lovejoy fidgeted while the young couple gazed lovingly at each other. "All right," he said with relief. "Look I know this may be awkward but I'd like you to stay there until we reach land. Mr. Hockley mustn't get a single whiff of you or all hell will break loose."

Rose tilted her head, peering at Lovejoy in puzzlement. "Lovejoy? Did you go back to First Class after you promised not to?"

"No," said Lovejoy grimly. "He came down here to look for me."

Jack frowned. "Sooo... if he's looking for you, then maybe you shouldn't be sitting in here _with_ us?"

"You're right, I shouldn't- and I'll be away as soon as I have your reassurance that you won't make yourselves conspicuous. No standing at the bows," he added, wagging his forefinger.

Rose looked at Brighid, then back to Lovejoy. "Tell me. Did Mr. Hockley threaten either of you? I know full well what he's like."

"An arrogant prick?" asked Brighid, calmly.

"And more," said Rose. "I was fated for a loveless marriage in which I would have been nothing more than a possession. He has a ferocious temper and a childish need for new toys, including ones that belong to other people. And if my mother's alive too- who knows what plans they're cooking up for poor Mr. Lovejoy if they conspire to tell the press that he killed me and stole the necklace."

Lovejoy got up. "I can't be seen with either of you again. I should imagine there's already enough gossip flying around up there. Poor Caledon Hockley, the grieving ex-fiance, betrayed by his faithful manservant."

Rose got up and followed him to the door, leaving Jack and Brighid behind to talk.

"Lovejoy," she said hesitantly. "I feel so terribly that this is all my fault. I chased my own happiness without regard for others, I can't blame Cal for being angry. I would be, too."

"Titanic changed everything," the former valet said.

"It didn't change Cal- and sadly, it didn't change me. It just brought out what was already there. I wanted to rebel. I wanted to escape. Selfishly, I wanted to jump. I caused a lot of trouble for Cal because I didn't love him and I wanted him to know it. And now I've gotten you into trouble, too." She fumbled for words. She looked down at the floor, then at the rows of books and the makeshift bunks, anywhere but at Lovejoy. "I ought to take the diamond to them and confess. Tell Cal and my mother that it was all my doing. I made you lie for me, I told you what to say. I'll take full responsibility and you needn't fear their actions anymore."

"I don't fear their actions, Miss Rose. And you mustn't go back to them. Even if some of what you say is the truth, you can't fall back into their clutches. It won't make them forgive you and it certainly won't put me back in their favour. It'll only convince them they were right all along."

Rose looked up and gazed at him imploringly. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Lovejoy. I don't know what you must think of me."

"I think you're young and you have a lot to learn. But I also think you have the courage to follow your heart, and that's something I can learn from you." He glanced over at Brighid, deep in conversation with Jack. "She knows about the necklace, about Cal, about everything. She's quite- " he smiled, thoughts drfting dangerously, "- quite something."

Rose reached out and pulled a long, brown hair from Lovejoy's lapel, holding it up in front of him. "Where will you be spending the night?"

He plucked the strand from her fingers and dropped it gently on the floor. "I won't be sleeping at all, besides catnapping in a chair."

"You're welcome to share with us, Lovejoy. All in one room with the door barricaded shut, you with your gun and the rest of us armed with chair legs. I am sure you've faced a scenario like that before."

Lovejoy pursed his lips. "It would certainly be safer for Brighid. She'd be able to sleep comfortably."

"There are two beds. Nothing as roomy as First Class, obviously. Jack and I will share one, and you and Brighid... "

"Will sleep separately," Lovejoy said firmly.

"Think about it," said Rose. "We're in Cabin 117. We'll go our separate ways for now, but give us five quick raps at ten o'clock and we'll let you in, no questions asked."

"Subterfuge," he said with a smile. "I like it."

She reached out and tugged his tie. "I knew you would."

"It's very kind of you to offer," he admitted, looking down at her hand.

"You helped us, Lovejoy. And now it's our turn. You keep Cal away from me, and I'll keep him away from you. Who knows? It might be fun."

"You're as bad as Brighid- that's what she said, too."

"Then it's settled. The Four Musketeers are in action."


	12. Goody Two Shoes

Inside Cabin 117, Lovejoy was formulating a plan. The first thing he needed to do was regain the use of his feet. Cal's words had stung, no matter how hard he tried to forget them. _How the mighty have fallen_. The struggles of survivors didn't matter to the likes of Hockley. _He_ hadn't put one single foot in the ice filled, corpse strewn sea. To him, Lovejoy's injuries were there to be weaponized, nothing more.

Brighid offered to use her 'sense of style' to fetch him a pair of shoes and was duly dispatched to the second class lounge to find something suitable. "Try for Italian leather," he had quipped. After she was gone, he sat down on the second of the two bunks and began unwrapping his bandages while Rose and Jack sat on the other bed and watched.

As the coils of wrapping fell away, his bare feet came into view. He heard a small intake of breath from Rose. He didn't blame her. His feet weren't exactly pretty, even when they were healthy, but now they were a pallid, pale grey colour, with swollen toes that pressed into each other. The big toenail on his left foot had turned black.

"That looks painful," she said with concern.

"It is a bit. But pain means there's feeling there."

"Lovejoy thinks pain is a good sign," Rose said to Jack.

"Yeah. I remember how much he liked inflicting it," said Jack drolly.

Lovejoy ignored the gentle ribbing. "Be honest. Do you think I might lose my toes?"

Rose extracted a hairpin from her thick, red curls. "Close your eyes," she instructed, wielding the pin while shuffling towards him on her knees.

Jack and Lovejoy exchanged a look that Rose was becoming all too familiar with.

"Put your dirty minds away," she said primly. "Close your eyes, Lovejoy."

"Should we not be on first name terms before you begin assaulting me?"

"Close your eyes, _Spicer,"_ she replied.

"Kind of a name is that, anyway?" muttered Jack, disappearing from view as Lovejoy's lids came down.

"One that my dear mother chose."

"Nice name," Jack said quickly. "I like it."

"Miss Rose," said Lovejoy, sensing her proximity. "Are you sure you need to be this close?"

"I'm going to stick this pin in various parts of your feet and you're going to tell me if you can feel it."

"All right. But don't overcompensate."

"I won't, I promise."

" _I_ might not have been so gentle," said Jack.

"That's why I'm doing this and not you," said Rose. "Now. I'm about to start. Remember, only say 'yes' when you feel something."

Lovejoy sat patiently while Rose began prodding his sole with the pin. Several 'Yesses' and a couple of 'Ouches' and 'be carefuls' later, Rose concluded that his feet were alive and well.

"Even those peculiar looking toes," she added, rather unnecessarily, he thought. His gangly toes might not be to everyone's tastes but he was quite attached to them.

"That's a weight off my mind," he said, putting both feet on the floor and wiggling the offending digits. "I do hope Miss Murphy hurries back soon. It'll be lovely to wear proper shoes again."

On cue, five knocks on the door signalled Brighid's return. Jack opened the door and she came in, rather breathlessly.

"I ran all the way," she said, holding up a cloth bag with shoe shaped lumps in the bottom.

"Very subtle," said Lovejoy. "I'm going to have to teach you how to be more stealthy."

"I'm sorry my love, but wait until you see these. You'll know why I'm so excited."

Lovejoy opened the bag and pulled out the smartest pair of black leather shoes he'd ever seen. He turned them around, admiring them from all angles. They were polished to a high sheen and he could practically see himself in them.

"Well?" asked Brighid, looking from one face to another. "D'ye like them? There's socks, too!"

Lovejoy could't help smiling broadly at his brand new shoes. "Whose feet did you steal them off?"

"Away with you! Nobody's. People are sharing their possessions freely. It's quite incredible."

He put the shoes neatly on the floor and took out the pair of clean black socks. He resisted the urge to smell them in front of the ladies and slipped them on. "Luxury," he breathed, stretching out his legs to admire the new, sleek shape of the unique, Lovejoy feet. Brighid then got down on her knees and helped him wiggle the shoes on while Jack stood open mouthed.

"That's two women he's had on their knees today. What's the secret, Spicer?"

Lovejoy smiled rakishly. "A murky past and a slight vulnerability."

Brighid smacked his calf. "Don't think you know how we women work," she said sternly. "Now. How's that? Walk around the room for us!"

Lovejoy got up obediently and started pacing. "Not bad," he mused, feeling the shoes snug against his heels. "Not too tight, nice bit of room in the toe."

"It'll be nice to lose the cane, won't it?" said Rose, as he executed a brisk turn and walked back the other way.

"I'm not losing the cane," he said as he went past. "I don't want anyone to think I'm _fully_ healed." He retrieved the cane which was propped against a small chair in the corner. "I shall retain a certain air of incapability. You never know when you might need it."

Jack had been silent for a while, but now he spoke up, his expression serious.

"Look, Lovejoy. I don't like the idea of you going after him on your own. At least let me come with you."

"You can't. You're dead."

"You don't know that for certain. I could've escaped."

"And left Miss Rose by herself? Who is most definitely dead? Apologies my dear," he said to Rose, "for sending you to the bottom of the ocean before your time." He smiled at all three of them, then asked, "Shall we show Miss Murphy the booty? After all, that's why we're holed up in here." He glanced out of the rain-spittled porthole at the squally conditions, impressed at how steady Carpathia held herself in the blustering seas.

Rose and Jack reached for each others' hands. "We're not criminals, Lovejoy," said Rose. "Okay, we're not technically meant to have the diamond, but Cal did say you could have it."

"I only wish I had it in writing," Lovejoy replied. "There were, alas, no witnesses to the exchange. Most people with common sense were trying to get off the ship, not go deeper inside it."

Rose went to the small closet and unhooked Cal's coat from its hanger. She folded it over her arm and brought it to the centre of the room. "I feel as though we should have music," she said. "A diamond like this needs a fanfare."

Jack made a circle with his fingers and put them to his lips. "Do do do _Doo_ do _Dooo_." He gestured at Lovejoy to join in, but the former valet firmly refused. "Do do do _DOO_ do _DOOO_ ," Jack continued, ignoring Lovejoy's eye rolling.

Rose put her hand in the side pocket, closing her fingers around the cool contours of the precious gemstone. Brighid held her breath, letting it out in a gasp of shock when she saw the Heart of the Ocean in all its glory, lifted from the darkness and into the light, sparkling a million shades of blues and purples that shimmered on the walls of the cabin.

"Holy Mother of God," she whispered. "I was expecting- well, I don't know, something a lot smaller. But that- that is an absolute beauty!" She folded her hands tightly together in case one of them shot out and grabbed for the necklace like a common thief.

"Try it on," said Rose, coming forward wth a smile.

"Oh no, my dear Rose, I can't possibly!"

"Of course you can! It'll look beautiful against the yellow of your dress. Here, come over to the looking glass." Rose took Brighid gently by the elbow and steered her in front of her own reflection. She hooked the diamond around Brighid's neck and fastened it. Brighid went white as a sheet as the multi-million dollar jewel nestled against her birdlike chest, wishing she had bigger bosoms so she could show it off properly.

"Oh my word, I think I might faint."

"Let me know and I'll catch you," said Lovejoy.

She turned away from the mirror and faced him. "How do I look?"

Lovejoy couldn't take his eyes off her. "Like a million dollars."

"Try twenty million," Rose offered.

Brighid went even paler. "You're not serious?"

"The Heart of the Ocean is a hand cut, one-off item from the court of King Louis XVI himself," said Rose, modestly.

Brighid whistled softly, fingering the jewel at her throat. "No wonder he wants it back. He'll no doubt want to give it to the next woman he seeks to possess."

Rose blushed. "He wasn't a very nice man."

"What a shame," Brighid murmured, "that riches and kindness don't often go together."

Lovejoy went over to help her unfasten the necklace. He stood behind her, towering over her with his 6' 2" frame. "Mr. Hockley is an only child and heir to his father's entire fortune," he said, his hands brushing the nape of her neck. "He can afford to be reckless. That's why I was hired, to keep him out of trouble. I succeeded for the most part- ultimately the capricious whims of a spoiled rich kid proved too much even for me. It _is_ a shame, because, in quieter moments, he can be quite thoughtful." He removed the necklace and handed it back to Rose, who took it silently from his outstretched hand.

Something in Lovejoy's demeanour dampened the atmosphere in the room and wiped the smiles from their faces. He coughed politely and went back to sit on the bed.

"Where do I go from here?" he asked, plainly.

Still clutching the necklace, Rose bit her lip and then said, "Lovejoy, are you thinking of going back to him? You changed as soon as you saw the diamond. If this is too much for you, we'll understand. You and Cal can make amends and we'll all go our separate ways. But we'll always be grateful to you for helping us survive."

Lovejoy raked long fingers through his hair, letting it flop boyishly over his forehead. "No. I'm not going back, as tempting as it sounds." His lips curved upwards in mockery of a smile. "Like I said to young Jack here. I'm worried about the future, not the past. After years of servitude to others, I'd quite like to strike out on my own. And besides, I've met someone," he reached his hand towards Brighid, who went over to sit with him on the bed, "who deserves better."

"Oh, you sweet talking divil," said Brighid, squeezing his hand tightly with both of hers. "You're so right, the toff's life isn't for me. I don't want to be a rich man's plaything. I'd rather spend my days in honest toil and my nights with a _real_ man." She sidled closer, the length of her thigh pressed against his. "A tall man with blue eyes who knows what he wants and goes after it."

Her words were not lost on Lovejoy, whose frostnipped toes curled safely inside his shoes where no one could see them. Every fibre of his being twitched with the desire for intimacy but he couldn't, not in front of the others, and not like an animal desperate to sate its own lust. Instead, he grinned awkwardly, half turned towards her trying to find something witty and erudite to say to her. He shouldn't have been surprised to find that in the very next moment, Brighid planted a smacker on his lips, a kiss that in no way could have been considered chaste, as Lovejoy mumbled his way through it, his hands fumbling for her face, embarrassed by their display of passion but wanting it to continue on forever.

Rose busied herself with returning the diamond to Cal's coat pocket and putting it back in the closet while Jack raked his hair back and shifted from one foot to another.

"We _really_ should go for a walk or something."

Lovejoy managed to break free for one second. "No, you can't!"

"Like hell we can't. Look, if you two are going to be steaming up the place... " he smiled at the memory of making love to Rose in the car, "We two are not going to sit here talking about the weather. Besides, I'm hungry again. We'll go on a food run while you two get to know each other. Hockley's not going to leave the comforts of First Class in the middle of a storm."

"I think it's blowing over," said Lovejoy. "I think it's better if you stay here."

"No," said Jack, "I'm stir crazy as it is. Come on, Rose. Let's go eat."

"But I had a plan!" Lovejoy protested.

"Your plan can wait. You don't have to go after Cal right now. You already chased him away twice. Even he's not stupid enough to come looking for you again so soon. He'll be sitting up there smoking a cigar and gloating like a kid over how bad you must be feeling."

"Jack's right," said Brighid sweetly. "We're safe for now. Let the young ones go for a bit. They're not daft, they gave you the run around on Titanic, didn't they?"

"Yes they did," said Lovejoy, glaring at Jack who only grinned in return.

"Please, my love. It would be nice to spend some time with you."

Lovejoy found himself falling into her eyes yet again. It was useless to try to fight it. Jack and Rose were conspiring with Brighid and there was nothing he could do about it except let himself go.

"All right," he said in the most serious tone he could muster. "But keep your wits about you. If you see Hockley or anyone you think is the least little bit suspicious, come back immediately."

Jack sighed loudly. "We'll be fine, Lovejoy. Just relax. This ship is nothing compared to the back streets of Paris."

"Oh?" said Rose, her ears pricking up as Jack ushered her to the door.

"I'll tell you later," Jack said, laughing at her expression.

After they were gone, Lovejoy sat looking at the shiny new shoes on his feet. "I may have put these on prematurely," he observed.


	13. When a Man Loves a Woman

Caledon Hockley was not a happy man. Despite the fact that he'd escaped the Titanic with his life while so many others had died, he sat by himself in the First Class smoking room, stroking his chin, his mind ticking like a clock. Convinced that Lovejoy was lying, he couldn't get thoughts of the tall, dour faced valet out of his head. It was a shock to discover the man had survived. Cal was sure he'd gone down with the ship. Having sent him into the bowels after Rose and that third class beggar, he thought he'd seen the last of Spicer Lovejoy.

It was unlike a Hockley to think of people as anything other than chess pieces. But he _had_ loved Rose, no matter what anyone said. He had loved her, and he had wanted, _expected_ her to love him back. He was offering her the perfect life. She was beautiful enough to do him proud at society gatherings, intelligent enough to have real conversations with, and - well, let's just say every intimate moment spent with her would have been an absolute delight.

But, in a fit of pique and childish tantrums, she'd thrown it all away, and for what? A roll in the hay with a penniless scribbler.

Cal's shapely lips folded into a sneer. He tugged the lower one as his frown deepened. He couldn't see why his behaviour had been any worse than hers- she _needed_ to be disciplined. Society ladies didn't spit. Society ladies didn't humiliate their men in public. Her defiance had shocked him and he lost his temper. Isn't that what any man worth his salt would do? These new women with their rebellious ways would be the downfall of society, that he knew.

But why was _she_ dead while he and Mr. Lovejoy were alive? Who had failed whom? Who was lying, and who was telling the truth? And where was the Heart of the Ocean?

Cal suspected Lovejoy had it, and nothing would convince him otherwise. As Carpathia rode the storm, another storm was brewing in his soul. He rubbed his jaw where Lovejoy had punched him, still caught his breath due to the sore spot between his ribs. It seemed everyone was out to publicly humiliate him- and in his eyes, he'd done nothing to deserve it. Rose was the disobedient one. Rose was the one who had caused all the discord in their two families. And yet- he hated to think she was gone forever. He still wished for the opportunity to see her again, to try to rebuild their lives.

He reached for his glass of brandy, swirled the liquid round and around and inhaled its heady fumes. The RMS Titanic had served as the stage for the worst performance he had ever attended. A play full of degenerates and scoundrels. And then, having wreaked merry havoc, she exited, Stage Left- or rather, to the bottom of the sea, taking all his hopes and dreams with her.

Once again, the image of his valet appeared in front of his eyes. Lovejoy had shadowed him for more years than he cared to remember, keeping him safe, making sure he got home in one piece. No one messed with Lovejoy. His impressive height and granite face was enough to put off the most rowdy attention seeker looking for a fight or the most obvious gold digging female who persisted even when Cal clearly wasn't interested. Lovejoy would stand in front of Cal with his feet planted apart, arms behind his back, jacket open just far enough to show a sliver of shoulder holster. And that would be enough.

Cal brought his fist down on the arm of his chair, denting the deep red leather upholstery. "Damn you, Lovejoy," he muttered. "I'd never have offered you the diamond if I'd known you were going to turn on me!" By promising Lovejoy the diamond, he'd practically sealed his loyal bodyguard's fate. He could have lived with the idea of Lovejoy and the diamond resting on the sea bed forever. What he couldn't live with was Lovejoy, alive and well, terminating his employment with the diamond in his possession.

Sipping his brandy, Cal supposed that this is what happened when you let someone else do your dirty work. He should have gone after Rose himself- and he _would_ have done, if the Titanic hadn't been rapidly sinking.

A smoky haze drifted in layers through the oak panelled room as wealthy gentlemen spoke in hushed tones about the Titanic and their fortunes. Many were eager to contact New York but were gently dissuaded by the wireless operators. Apparently journalists were already clamouring for details. The constant tapping was going to set the radio on fire if they weren't careful, but that was a joke in poor taste and was not to be repeated. Millionaires thrust bits of paper at the operator. It was a matter of urgency that this bank or that financial adviser be told of their survival. No, it had to be done _now_. Time was money, there wasn't a moment to waste. Finally the Captain gave special powers to the wireless room to refuse entrance to anyone who wasn't a crewmember, and to put off the bullying journalists until they reached shore.

This meant that when Cal approached the Captain for a list of survivors on board, he had been told there was one rule for everyone and he would have to wait until everything was legally documented. And that wouldn't happen until they reached New York. Cal had fumed with impotent rage, but there'd been no one to back him up. No Lovejoy to twist an arm or two or pull out a wad of twenties. The Captain had walked away, leaving Cal clenching and unclenching his fists, frustrated at his lack of progress.

Cal's gaze roved around the room, looking for Lovejoy. The man was a professional sneak and could turn up anywhere, even with those disgusting things on his feet. Cal had a sudden urge to kick the cane away and watch Lovejoy hit the ground face first. His former valet was fast becoming a target for all of Cal's anger and frustration. How dare the man defend Rose and that dog after all they'd been through together! What exactly went on in that dining room to make Lovejoy switch sides?

No. Lovejoy was not telling the entire truth. And that did _not_ sit well with Caledon Hockley.

oOoOoOo

In the dining room, still serving food for latecomers hungry enough to brave Carpathia's rolling motion, Rose watched Jack eat. Despite all the thoughts and conflicting feelings swirling in her heart and the images of Cal flashing before her eyes, she couldn't get enough of Jack Dawson. Visually, he was a dream. The shape of his head, his thick, blond hair, his beautiful aqua blue eyes and petal pink lips. His long, velvet neck, the way his collar shaped around it. He was what they called a 'pretty boy', but he was tough inside. A walking paradox. And he was talented. _Oh,_ how he was talented. Those hands could do much more than draw her like one of his French girls. Rose flushed deep red as sensual memories came flooding back. She pushed a rather greasy looking mushroom across her plate- the storm was unsettling her stomach and she had not the appetite for anything more than weak tea.

"Wonder what they're doing," he mumbled, his cheek bulging.

"Who?" asked Rose, jolted back to the present.

"You know. Beauty and the Beast."

"Never you mind, Jack Dawson. I expect he's turned both beds on their sides and is sitting in a chair by the door with his gun out." She giggled suddenly and put her napkin politely over her mouth.

"Getting to know each other most likely. Hah- good luck getting to know Lovejoy." He scooped up a lump of mash potato and shoved it in his mouth.

Her eyes darted to the door as people came and went. "I hope Cal doesn't come looking for us," she said. "Perhaps Lovejoy was right, we should have stayed in the cabin."

"Aw, c'mon, Rose. Give 'em some time. Remember the car?" He waggled his eyebrows.

How well she remembered the car. She'd only just been thinking about it, Jack's hands all over her while they fogged up the windows. "Jack. Stop it. That was different."

"How was it different?"

"Well, because- because it's _Lovejoy_. I'm going to be so embarrassed when we see him again."

"Rose. Are you thinking about Lovejoy?" Jack narrowed his eyes and glared at her but she knew he was teasing her. He teased her all the time.

"Don't be disgusting."

"You are, aren't you?"

"No! I'm thinking about Cal."

Jack took a sip of water. "If it's not Lovejoy, it's Cal. Got any room for me?"

"That was my life for a whole year. Cal and my mother, who's also around somewhere, and Lovejoy looming in the shadows. I'm starting to feel trapped again."

"At least Lovejoy's our ally now. We don't need to worry about him ratting on us."

"He's still a reminder though. I admit he's a different person, but it'll take a while to completely get used to him being a friend."

Jack put his fork down and looked at her intently across the table. "You know what he said? He said I reminded him of himself when he was younger. He said I had the same determination as he did. How d'you like that?"

"It worries me," said Rose, deadpan.

"From a man's point of view, he's a tough old bastard. Like a wolf who's been challenged too many times but stands his ground and won't give up. Of course, I don't know what women see in him- he's scary."

Rose decided to tease him back. She picked up a green bean and toyed with it against her lips. "He must have quite a lot of experience," she said, flashing her eyes.

"That's it?"

"He's tall. "

"So am I."

"His voice."

"Okay, stop."

Rose laughed and put down the bean. No matter how serious the situation, Jack could always see the bright side and diffuse her worries with one of his beaming smiles. "How long do you think we should give them?"

"Long enough for dessert, a coffee, and maybe a nightcap in the lounge." He narrowed his eyes. "Maybe find ourselves a quiet corner."

Rose's jaw dropped. "How much stamina do you think he has?"

"I don't know, Rose. How much stamina do _you_ think he has?"

Rose threw her napkin on the table. "Jack Dawson, for the last time. I am not thinking about Lovejoy. It's Cal I'm worried about."

"Well, don't be," said Jack. "If it comes down to it, I will back Lovejoy up, even if it means revealing myself. I'm not going to sit back and do nothing."

"Oh God," said Rose. "Trouble is brewing, I can feel it."

Jack got up from the table and came around to Rose's side to pull her chair out for her. "Trouble is my middle name," he said. "What's the worst that could happen? Lovejoy and I aren't going to start anything. That leaves Cal. If he starts something he'll be arrested. Think what that'll do to his reputation. No bodyguard to smooth things over and lie to his daddy about what really happened. He can't afford to risk that."

"He's impulsive, you saw that. When he's angry enough he acts first and thinks later."

"Then let him. Rose, he's not your responsibility. He's not your fiance anymore. This ship might be smaller than Titanic but we'll lose him as easily as we did back then. He's not going to harm you and you shouldn't even let him think he can. Keep laughing, Rose. Keep smiling and keep your chin up. You're not going to be broken by that jumped up ass and his delusions of revenge. Besides, it's Lovejoy he's after. He thinks we're dead."

Rose hurried after Jack, her small hand clasped in his. "I love you, Jack Dawson," she said, breathlessly.

"Good," said Jack, smiling at her over his shoulder.

oOoOoOo

The squall was finally blowing over. Rain stopped battering the ship as dark banks of clouds thundered away to the north, revealing the remains of a red sunset ahead of Carpathia's bows. Faces bathed in pale orange light peered out of portholes, passengers braved the outer deck to take in the magnificent view of a sky split in half. Some of them crossed themselves. The dark clouds represented the hell they'd escaped and the sunset was hope for the future. The evening star twinkled brightly, leading the way. The air was fresh with the tang of rain and salt and the oily engine smell of Carpathia herself. She settled her keel into the calming waters and thrummed ever onwards, rain streaming from her decks as she traversed the silver sea.

In the warm, cosy confines of Cabin 117, Lovejoy was a happy man. Happiness suffused his entire body, even making its way down to his 'peculiar' toes. His face was happy, his arms were happy, his hips and legs were definitely happy. His neck was happy, his back was happy, his chest was happy. Every single bit of him was warm, happy and satiated. He gazed up at the ceiling and thanked God for sparing his life and leading him to this moment. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve it, but he was immensely grateful, and humble, and aware of his good fortune.

Beside him, Brighid was going through her own thoughts. Her gentle, rhythmic breathing soothed his soul. She was awake, as was he, a little slick and bathed in afterglow. Light reappeared at the porthole, a dusky shade of pink signaling the end of the storm.

He eased himself onto his side and gazed at her delicate profile. Maybe she wasn't aristocracy, but the slope of her forehead, the straight line of her nose and the soft roundness of her chin spoke of good breeding, regardless of class. He hadn't asked her why she had never married. He was curious, because in his eyes there was nothing wrong with her. She was attractive, gentle, and very, very sensual- the last hour or so had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt. He'd gleaned little of her history, preferring to concentrate on the present. But still, he wondered why no one had snapped her up. Possibly she was thinking the same about him. He'd never married either, but for some reason it was different for men.

He dusted a finger lightly over her satin smooth cheek. She turned her head and smiled at him. Wordlessly, she snuggled her face into the crook of his neck and nuzzled him like a cat.

"The ship is lulling me to sleep," she said softly.

"That isn't what you said earlier."

She smiled. "Mm. I remember."

"I think I might take forty winks myself," he admitted.

"Good," she replied. "Stay awhile, nothing bad will happen." She rolled over and put her arm across his chest like a barrier preventing him from leaving.

Lovejoy glanced at their clothing, scattered untidily across the cabin floor. What had happened to dignity and decorum? What had happened to his insistence that they sleep apart? The minute the cabin door had closed behind Rose and Jack all thoughts of social etiquette had vanished. Brighid's lips and her hands and her husky promises had made sure of that. He'd go to the ends of the earth if the last hour could be repeated, word for word, touch for touch, motion for motion, including that of the ship. It had been sublime. Simply sublime. He had no intentions of leaving her, not while he felt like this.

"There's just one thing," he said, gently disentangling himself from her and sitting up. "We really ought to put this back."

She looked up at him, pulled a sulky face. "Must we?"

He nodded. "I'm afraid we must. It's only right."

" _Now_ you're thinking about what's right?" She laughed mischievously. "Oh, all right then." She sat up with a throaty chuckle and presented her naked back to him. "Fun while it lasted though, wasn't it, my love?"

"Indeed it was," said Lovejoy, unfastening the Heart of the Ocean. "Indeed it was."


	14. Trouble Came Looking

Rose and Jack were sitting in the farthest, most secluded area of the deck, huddled under blankets, looking out over the ocean. Other passengers occasionally walked by, nodding politely at the young lovers. More shapes moved about further along the deck, columns of grey melting in and out of shadows. Rose peered at them, trying to make out faces.

"Relax, Rose," said Jack patiently.

"I'm trying to," Rose answered, craning her neck every two minutes.

"Look. It's gonna be a while before we reach land. You can't spend the whole time looking over your shoulder."

"I'm not. I'm looking over _your_ shoulder."

"Yours, mine, what difference does it make? If this is what it's gonna be like all the way to New York then I'd kinda like to go find him and get it over with."

"No. You don't know him like I do. And if my mother's here as well- "

"They can't make you go back to that life," said Jack. "I won't let them."

Stars dotted the night sky just as they did when the Titanic went under. The ocean gleamed tar-black, lined with veins of silver; the wind sent the cries of a thousand lost souls to capture Carpathia and bring her back. But she steamed on. The past was left behind, the future still miles ahead, and Rose knew she could either brave it out or hide away in the cabin. But damn it, she didn't _want_ to hide. Having come through the worst tragedy, she couldn't let Caledon Hockley continue to make things difficult.

"I feel like a fugitive," she said, nodding her head at another passerby.

"You're not a fugitive, Rose."

"I'm the cause of all the trouble, though."

"Nothing we can't handle. Now relax. Let me and Lovejoy deal with whatever happens."

"Sounds like you _want_ something to happen."

"No, I don't. But _if_ it does." Jack looked at her intently. "It's a matter of pride, Rose. How anyone could do what he did, while the ship was going down, _shooting_ at us- it's inhuman."

Rose lifted her head. "You just said it yourself. Pride."

"No," said Jack. "That was arrogance. He didn't love you. Not like I do."

Rose sat up straight and pulled the blanket closer around her. She considered male vanity, what she knew of it. Cal claimed he loved her and provided all that she wanted but it wasn't enough. Now Jack said he loved her, and she knew it was different because she loved him back, but there was still that spark, that quiet fury, and the basis of it was the same. Men were possessive, territorial by nature. Quick to attack, quick to defend, quick to ire over what they perceived to be theirs, even other human beings. Rose didn't want to be _anyone's_ possession. Not even Jack's.

Clutching the blanket, she got up from her seat, resisting Jack's attempts to stop her.

"Where are you going?"

She smiled down at him. "Ladies' room."

"Oh." His face showed conflicting feelings. "Want me to go with you?"

"I am not sure the other ladies would appreciate that."

"Well no, I'd just wait outside."

"There's no need, Jack. I'm just going to powder my nose. I'll be back shortly."

"Okay," he called after her as she headed for the hatch. "But I'm not happy leaving you by yourself."

"I'm not by myself," she said, peeking round the door. "I'm with hundreds of others."

Jack folded his arms against a sudden chill and glowered at the ocean. "Me and my big mouth, telling her to relax. Huh. Women!"

oOoOoOo

Cal was tired of thinking. Three snifters of the finest cognac burned inside his stomach and the background chatter of the rich bored him senseless. He got up from his chair, leaving the ghost of himself as a deep imprint in the leather. Ignoring the cheery 'hallo' of someone he only half recognised, Cal left the smoking room, eating up the passageway in long, angry strides.

oOoOoOo

The Pinkerton motto was 'We Never Sleep', and even now Lovejoy found it hard to switch off. Brighid however, faced no such difficulty. She was far away in dreamland, dusting his neck with steady, warm breath, occasionally making a sound that was halfway between a gentle, ladylike snore and a purr. She was right up against him, making him hot, and his arm, where she was lying on it, had gone numb. The cabin was in darkness, the porthole a pale, colorless circle. He might have dozed off for short bursts at a time, but now he was wide awake and ready to get up. They'd spent far too long indulging themselves and it was time to return to business.

If only she wasn't such a deep sleeper. If only her skin wasn't so soft. If only her hair didn't smell like peaches...

He slid one leg out of the sheets and put his foot on the floor. That made him feel slightly less lazy. The carpet was fuzzy under his sole. He occupied himself with rotating his ankle and assessing the sensations in his toes. That made him feel more productive. He couldn't do a lot more with his arm pinned beneath a sleeping woman and he wondered why he didn't just drag it out from under her; that's what the old Lovejoy would have done.

Well, he'd give her five more minutes and then he was getting up.

Five more minutes.

He'd count it.

oOoOoOo

Grateful for the company of her own gender, Rose fell into conversation with the group of women in the ladies' powder room. She was introduced to Frances, Emmy and Fliss. It didn't take long to establish that Fliss was the woman who had dressed Brighid in her new finery. Rose fell into an easy friendship almost immediately. They talked about the Titanic while Rose helped Emmy with her hair. They were all original second class passengers bound for Europe when the distress call came in, and all were hungry for details. They couldn't imagine the horror. They prayed for the dead, every spare minute they could. Such a magnificent ship. How could it happen? They said she was unsinkable. They cursed it with that epithet. It had taken less than three hours to prove them wrong.

The women treated Rose like a heroine. Rose told them she no longer had family except for her estranged mother and Jack. She told them all about Jack. He was the love of her life, she would never let go. She told them she'd already changed her name and was looking forward to learning to ride a horse like a man. They all laughed.

Meanwhile, Jack had fallen into conversation with a couple of men who had spotted him restlessly fidgeting on his own. They thought it was hilarious that he was fretting over a woman. "You know what they're like," the men told him, "gossiping all night long. I'm sure your ears are burning by now." They too discussed the Titanic, reasons why she hit the ice and how they would have prevented it if they'd been in charge. "I hear the man who built the ship survived," said the younger one. "I'd like to break an iceberg over _his_ head."

Before long, Jack and the two men were putting the whole world to rights, and Jack stopped worrying about Rose.

Rose and her new friends checked their reflections for the last time and left the powder room as a group. At the end of the passageway they parted to go their separate ways. Rose bade them goodbye and started along the corridor, relaxed and happy and ready to rejoin Jack. She felt clean and refreshed, her hair primped and curled, a dash of makeup on her face to bring out the colour of her eyes. She began humming. _Come Josephine, in my flying machine, and it's up she goes, up she goes..._

A man came around the corner and stopped dead in front of her. She looked up to bid him good evening and the formation of words died in her throat. The man's eyes widened in shock, his mouth parted in a silent O. Thick, black hair fell over his forehead, his shoulders straightened in that haughty way she remembered all too well.

"Rose," he uttered, barely able to find his voice. "Rose- Sweetpea, is that _you_?"

She couldn't speak. She literally couldn't. Her throat tightened, her legs became jelly. She backed away, one hand reaching for the bulkhead to steady herself. Corridors that normally teemed with people were now eerily empty. There was nobody she could run to as Cal advanced, slowly, disbelievingly, toward her.

"I _knew_ it! I _knew_ you were alive!"

"No," said Rose, finding her voice at last. "I'm no longer alive to _you_!"

"On the contrary, you are very much alive, Sweetpea." The word came out like a sneer, making her blood run cold. "Against all odds you survived the sinking, as did I. It's fate, Rose. We were meant to be together."

"I don't know you," she whispered. "I never knew you. You're a stranger and I want nothing to do with you."

Cal had almost reached her when a crewmember appeared like an angel at the head of the passage. Rose felt relief wash over her as she pushed herself away from the wall and ran to him.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, casting a suspicious glance at Cal.

"I'm lost," said Rose, moving close to the crewman. "This gentleman offered to help me find my cabin but I would much rather a steward assist me."

The crewman kept his eye on Cal as he nodded and ushered her away. "Of course, miss. I'll help you find your cabin."

"Thank you," she said gratefully, clinging to his arm while avoiding eye ontact with Cal, who took a few steps backwards in the direction from which he'd appeared.

Once out of earshot, the crewman asked if she was all right. "He wasn't bothering you, was he?"

"Well, yes he was, a little bit. He thinks he recognises me from Titanic. I'd rather he be kept away from me, if at all possible."

"I shall have a word with him once we reach your cabin."

The door to cabin 117 finally came into view.

"I'll be all right now," said Rose. "You can leave me here." She was still shaking inside, worried about Jack, but strangely calm on the outside.

"Very well, miss. But any more mischief and you must go straight to a crewman. We won't tolerate trouble aboard this ship."

"Thank you," she said, smiling as attractively as she could, grateful for the splash of rouge on her lips. She watched until the man had gone and then rapped five times on the door. "Lovejoy," she hissed, "Lovejoy, open up!" She rapped again, five times, with more force. "Lovejoy! Open the door! It's an emergency! _Now_ , dammit!"

A lifetime passed, or so it felt, before Lovejoy came to the door and flung it open. Rose took a step backwards as he loomed in the doorway, face flushed and hair awry, tucking loose shirt tails into trousers he had clearly just pulled on.

"What is it?" he growled. "What's the emergency? Where's Dawson?"

"He's up on the deck! Lovejoy, it's Cal! He saw me!" The words came out in a rush as Lovejoy ordered her inside. She brushed past him, trying to ignore his state of undress, then tried not to look at Brighid who had also dressed in a hurry. Apologies came pouring out of her but Brighid waved them aside.

"Oh my love, it's our fault, we carried on far too long."

"No, no... it's fine, really... Jack and I were the same."

"Where did you see Mr. Hockley?" Lovejoy demanded, sitting on the other bed to pull on his socks and shoes.

"Outside the ladies' room. He's on this deck, or at least he was. And Jack is waiting for me portside, near the back of the ship." She gave Lovejoy a set of hasty directions, as far as she remembered them.

Lovejoy buttoned his waistcoat, strapped on his shoulder holster and reached for his suit jacket. He looked like his old self now. Stone faced and steely eyed, he looked ready for a showdown.

"Stay here," he ordered. "Both of you. Don't leave the cabin."

"Hey there, we're not exactly weaklings," protested Brighid.

"I didn't say you were. But I can't have everyone running around the ship like ants. This is between myself and Mr. Hockley." His face softened just a little, he smiled for Brighid. "A small fire can easily be contained. A large one cannot. But once the fire is out, you are free to enjoy the embers."

Brighid smiled back and winked at him while Rose went deep red and studied the porthole which had suddenly become most interesting. She wasn't sure what Lovejoy meant but she was certain he spoke the language of lovers, riddles and euphemisms meant only for each other. She should know, she shared the same language with Jack.

"Lovejoy, be careful," she said as the valet patted his pockets and pushed back his hair.

"Don't worry about me, miss," he replied, opening the door. "Worry about Mr. Hockley."

With a tigerish smile, Spicer Lovejoy picked up his cane and left the cabin, and Rose and Brighid sat on the bed to wait.


	15. Wild Is The Wind

Jack and his new friends were deep in discussion about the merits of French women versus American women when Lovejoy strode out onto the deck and made his way towards them. He cut a tall, imposing figure, catching the attention of the younger man right away. The conversation spluttered to a halt as Lovejoy came up to Jack and said, "I need a word with you, sir."

"'Sir'?" said the older man, impressed and bewildered in equal measure.

Jack threw off his blanket and stood up. "What is it, Lovejoy? Oh my God, Rose. It's about Rose isn't it? Damn, I should never have let her go off by herself!"

"Anything we can help you with?" asked the younger man, stepping forward.

"Your offer is very kind," said Lovejoy, putting his hand out to steady the increasingly flustered Jack. "But I believe we can manage this ourselves."

"Albert and Gerald Baines, Cabin 28. If you need backup."

"Thank you," said Lovejoy, with a courteous bow.

Lovejoy walked along the deck with Jack, keeping his voice low. "Unfortunately, Miss Rose encountered Mr. Hockley, quite by accident. He is clearly on the prowl- I had to be very careful getting here." He tapped his cane against the railing as they travelled the length of the ship.

"We underestimated him. We let our guard down." Jack ran over and kicked a deck chair, sending it scraping across the deck. "God _damnit_!"

Lovejoy pulled him away before he could do any more damage to ship's property. "Smashing things up won't help. That's something I had to tell Mr. Hockley a thousand times."

Unhappy and frustrated, Jack allowed himself to be led along by the ex-bodyguard. "You'd better tell me Rose is all right," he demanded.

"She's in the cabin with Miss Murphy, where I instructed them to stay."

"Oh boy," said Jack. "You know how good she is at obeying instructions."

Lovejoy nodded. "You don't have to tell me."

"Well at least she's safe for now." Jack dug his hands in his empty pockets. "I wish I had a cigarette."

"No, you don't. It's a filthy habit."

"A cigar, then."

"There's some in the cabin."

They made idle chatter as people passed by, as though it were any other ordinary night. After they'd passed, Jack's smile dropped and he turned back to Lovejoy.

"So what's our next move? We go looking for him?"

"You have two options. You either stay with Miss Rose out of sight in the cabin, or you join forces with me and confront him head on."

Jack looked up at the heavens as though all the answers were there. "How can one man cause so much trouble?"

Lovejoy smiled. "He's a Hockley. It's the one thing they do well."

"As much as I'd like to make mincemeat out of him, Rose will be worried about me. I should go to her."

"I thought you might say that. Very well, we'll go back to the cabin. But keep your eyes peeled. I woud imagine he's already told Mrs. Bukater about her daughter's survival."

"Oh god," Jack moaned. "We'll have half of First Class and the Captain after us."

"And half of New York when we arrive."

Jack looked round at Lovejoy in disgust. "That's very reassuring, Lovejoy! Thanks a million! That really made me feel better!"

"Keep calm," Lovejoy said, eyes darting as they entered the ship through an outer hatch.

"That's easy for you to say."

"I've had _years_ of practice."

It didn't take long for them to find Cal, nor did it require the skills of a Pinkerton detective. They could hear the raised, entitled, First Class tones from the end of the corridor before they even turned the corner. Lovejoy put his arm out to stop Jack. Pressing themselves against the wall, they held back for a moment and listened.

"I am asking you to calm down, sir."

That was the voice of a steward, brisk and businesslike.

"I _am_ calm! Don't I look calm to you?"

That was Hockley, insistent as ever, and being restrained, by the sound of it. Lovejoy resisted the urge to peer around the corner. If Hockley was about to be arrested, he would bide his time until later.

"No, sir. I'm afraid you don't."

"Good grief, man. All I'm asking is that you tell me where I can find my fiancee."

"The lady asked that you leave her alone."

"I told you, she's my _fiancee_! For God's sake, check the passenger lists!"

Cal was becoming more upset by the second, and Lovejoy could tell that a struggle was going on.

"Sir. Please. Allow me to escort you back to First Class- this isn't your deck and you're clearly- upset."

There was a pause there, a significant one. Lovejoy wondered if 'upset' meant 'drunk'.

"It's not her deck either! She's a First Class passenger! Her name is Rose deWitt Bukater and we're engaged to be married! We boarded Titanic together! Check your lists, man! They're not off limits to you, and I don't know why they're off limits to blasted survivors! We have a right to know if our - if our _loved ones_ are aboard!"

"Sir. A full inventory with the proper authorities and paperwork will be carried out upon disembarkation. Due to the pressure we are already receiving from New York, no passenger must interfere with the running of this ship before then. Those are my orders."

"Do you know what you can do with your _orders_?!"

"Yes," said the crewman as calmly as he could. "Carry them out."

Behind the bulkhead, Lovejoy spoke to Jack in a quiet whisper. "Go to the cabin. I'll stay here. He'll be so delighted to see me he'll forget all about Rose."

Jack had to smile at the valet's straight face. "Good man," he muttered, patting Lovejoy's shoulder. "But I sure wish I could stay here and help you."

"I'll be fine, sir. Honestly. The less trouble caused, the better. Especially in front of the crew."

"Good thinking." Jack said, before raising an eyebrow. "What's with this 'sir' shit, anyway?"

"Old habits die hard."

"That's okay. I kinda like it."

Jack waited for a group of passengers to pass and then hid behind them as they crossed the head of the corridor containing Cal and the crewman. Lovejoy watched until the boy was out of sight before making his move. Leaning on his cane, he limped around the corner and presented himself to Cal and the steward as though he'd been strolling the passageways all along.

"May I be of assistance, Mr. Hockley?" he asked smoothly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Cal said rudely.

"I heard you shouting," replied Lovejoy. "As did half the ship, I expect."

"You're like a bad smell," Cal raged. "Turning up everywhere."

"You should know all about bad smells, the number of times I've had to lift you out of your own vomit."

Cal's face contorted with fury. "Damn you, Lovejoy! You bare faced liar! How dare you talk to me that way?"

"I worked for this man for a long time," said Lovejoy to the steward. "I've seen all there is to see."

The steward stood in front of Cal to block him from approaching Lovejoy. "Whoever throws the first punch is going straight to the brig," he warned in a low, serious tone. "And the Captain _will_ be called."

Lovejoy smiled benignly. "I said I'd settled my scores, which I have. I am well acquainted with Mr. Hockley. We'll discuss the matter like gentlemen and that will be the end of it." He turned his attention to Cal. "Mr. Hockley has a reputation to maintain and a gold-plated future ahead of him. He can't afford to do anything to blot his copybook."

Cal threw off the crewman's arm and raked furious fingers through his hair. Lovejoy regarded him as though from a distance, with no emotional attachment whatsoever. The times he'd had to carry this man home, drunk as the proverbial skunk, and clean him up before his father found out. The inebriated abuse he'd withstood, time after time, from the upperclass brat whose 'night had been completely ruined'. The number of twenty dollar bills and other bargaining chips Lovejoy had stuffed into pockets during his employment with the Hockleys could not even be estimated. And after all that, Hockley had not learned a thing. Lovejoy felt disgust rise in him like a wave of bile but kept his face neutral, his stance non-threatening but ready.

"Where is she?" Cal hissed.

"Who?"

"You know damn well who. Rose! My fiancee!"

"You don't have a fiancee," said Lovejoy coolly.

"You told me she was dead. You told me you don't have the diamond. You're nothing but a liar."

"Diamond?" asked the crewman, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes. I wish to report it stolen. That is, unless this- _gentleman_ ," Cal spat the word with contempt, "gives it back to me right now."

Lovejoy plastered on his most obsequious look of pity. "Mr. Hockley. Let's go somewhere and have a nice, quiet chat. You've been through an ordeal that has clearly disturbed you." He turned to the crewman. "I worked for Mr. Hockley's father. We've had our little run-ins over the years. I know how to calm troubled waters."

Clearly in a hurry to move on with his rounds, the crewman nodded his consent. "I trust you gentlemen will be able to resolve your issues amicably," he said. "Remember- the first sign of trouble and the Captain will be notified."

Cal watched the man go, then squared his shoulders against Lovejoy. "I'm looking forward to hearing your excuses," he snarled.

"All in due course," said Lovejoy. "In the meanwhile, care to join me on the deck?"

Cal began following his former valet. "I see you took those hideous bandages off your feet. My words must have stung."

"Oh? Were they meant to?"

"Whether they were or not, I clearly had an effect on you."

"My feet are healing," said Lovejoy. "It was nothing to do with anything you said. But thank you for revealing your intentions."

"What did you expect?"

"Truthfully? An apology."

Cal snorted loudly. "For what?"

"For not giving a shit whether I lived or died."

They were now on the deck where the night breezes licked their faces and the dark ocean swished and glimmered. Lovejoy went to the rail and leaned on it.

"You're a grown man," said Cal, keeping to the safety of the deckhouse. "And you were hired to serve me. It isn't- _wasn't_ , my job to 'give a shit', as you so crudely put it." He scoffed and looked away from Lovejoy. "You've been spending too much time with Rose- talking back to me, getting above yourself." His eyes flashed briefly as a thought struck him. "I wonder what else you've been _getting up_ to?"

"Explain what you mean by that," said Lovejoy warily.

Cal leaned against the bulkhead, hands behind his back, sensing a weak spot. "Well. She's a beautiful woman, isn't she? Beautiful, young, vibrant... I am sure you've _entertained_ a notion or two." His sneer grew bolder as Lovejoy's face turned dark. "Perhaps that was your intention all along. Get rid of me, kill the boy, and have her all to yourself."

The railing dug into Lovejoy's spine like a knife. "You disgust me," he said coldly.

"Oh, come now, Lovejoy. Why pretend? I suppose I was too blinded by love to notice. All those times I sent you after her. It was inevitable that you'd develop feelings for her. Oh yes, it's all starting to make sense. That other woman I saw you with, if you could call her that, is just a cover for your _real_ scheme."

"You couldn't be further from the truth," said Lovejoy. "I have absolutely no ulterior motives where Miss Rose is concerned, but it's not going to matter to you since you've already made up your stubborn, mulish mind."

"Oh, I've made up my mind, all right." Cal laughed bitterly. "Were you planning a future with her, Lovejoy? You, her and the diamond? How long do you think she would have stayed with an old goat like you?"

Lovejoy decided it was time to strike. He straightened to his full height and stared at Cal mockingly. "Longer than she stayed with you," he said, his declaration dripping with contempt.

Disbelief registered on Cal's face a split-second before blind fury erupted, driving him towards Lovejoy as though propelled by rage. With both hands outstretched he launched himself at Lovejoy in an attempt to push him over the side of the ship, but the ex-Pinkerton man was more than prepared. Cal missed his mark and soon found that he was the one leaning backwards over the rail with Lovejoy looming over him holding his cane horizontally across Cal's throat. It had all happened so quickly. Cal glanced sideways and down at the black water roiling beneath him. Cold wind tugged his hair and roared past his ears. His hands tightened around the railing as his feet left the deck. He blinked anxiously at Lovejoy, unwilling to surrender, but clearly very afraid.

"Don't you _ever_ try a trick like that again," Lovejoy growled. He gripped both ends of the cane and pressed it harder against Cal's jaw, feeling the bob of his throat as Cal swallowed nervously. But the younger man wasn't giving up yet.

"Get off me," he hissed. "Get off me or I'll have you arrested."

Lovejoy pressed harder with the cane, forcing Cal further over the rail. "How will you do that when you're floating out to sea?"

"Good God, man!" Cal's voice was now a harsh squeak, silenced by the pressure on his neck. "You're insane!"

"On the contrary," said Lovejoy. "I've come to my senses for the first time in years. You were a nightmare to work for, _Mister_ Hockley. The small amount of prestige and the measly salary I earned for cleaning up after you ceased to be important the minute you abandoned me. That was the very moment I stopped working for you. I had no need to _take care_ of Miss Rose or the boy after that. On the contrary, they did what you refused to do." A small crowd was gathering but Lovejoy ignored it. "They helped me survive, _Mister_ Hockley. Even after everything I did to them. They helped me survive. They refused to hate me. It was quite a revelation."

"You've gone soft," Cal spluttered. "Soft and sentimental."

"Maybe," the valet replied. "But maybe it was time."

With his center of gravity nearing the point of no return, Cal finally relented. "All right, Lovejoy. All right. You win. We'll talk. I'll listen to you. Just- just don't kill me."

Lovejoy peered closely at Cal's face. "I'm not convinced."

"Please! I can barely breathe! My hands are slipping. If I fall you'll be done for murder."

"If you fall it'll be an accident."

Cal blinked, his eyes flickering sideways. "There are witnesses."

Lovejoy glanced up and around at the gathering hordes. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't very well allow Hockley to plunge to his doom. He relaxed his grip on the cane until just the very tips of Cal's shoes touched the deck.

"Promise me we'll talk."

Cal nodded. "We'll talk."

"Promise me."

"I promise," said Cal with a sickly smile that did nothing for his looks.

Lovejoy was still not convinced, but there were too many people on deck and he knew that officers would be arriving soon. He didn't want to release Cal but neither did he wish to look like the aggressor since he had already been caught throwing punches on the first day. It was a tough choice to make, and went against all of his instincts, but eventually he was forced to remove the cane from Cal's throat and pull him back to safety. And that was to be his undoing.

Just as Cal had done aboard the sinking Titanic, he thrust his hand into Lovejoy's open jacket and yanked the gun from its holster. The crowd ducked as one like a flock of starlings and began to scream. Lovejoy staggered backwards, hands raised, as Cal pointed the weapon directly at his head. The crowd fell back, mindlessly babbling, while members of the crew surged forward to form a barrier between the passengers and the two men.

"Put the gun down, sir," a senior officer said, his tone full of authority.

"Not before I rid the world of this rattlesnake." Cal's voice trembled as he walked in a slow circle around Lovejoy, picking out the best angle from which to shoot his former bodyguard.

"Sir. Please. Put the gun down."

"One shot and then I'll do whatever you want. One shot and that will be the end of it." Cal shook hair out of dark, glittering eyes and aimed the gun at Lovejoy's temple. Lovejoy stood as still as he could so as not to startle Cal.

"I'll ask you one last time, _Mister_ Lovejoy. Where is Rose, and where is the diamond?"

Lovejoy stared straight ahead, past the crewmen and into the inky darkness. "I don't know," he said quietly.

Cal's face tightened, his eyes lost in shadow. "And you had the nerve to call me stubborn."

"You promised me you'd talk."

"So what? I make lots of promises. They're just words- they mean nothing. You should know that. We have history, remember? We were a team once, _Mister_ Lovejoy. A formidable team. What a shame you threw all that away." His finger tightened on the trigger. "I'll ask you one more time. Where is Rose, and where is the diamond?"

" _I don't know,_ " said Lovejoy, firmly.

"Very well. Have it your way. But I assure you, Lovejoy, that was the very last lie you will ever tell." Cal fixed his sights on Lovejoy's temple and pulled the trigger.

 _Click._

Perplexed by the lack of gunfire, Cal huffed loudly and pulled the trigger again.

 _Click._

Infuriatingly, Lovejoy remained standing, gazing solemnly into the distance. Cursing up a storm, Cal tried again and again, with the same results. _Click. Click. Click_. No bullets, no blood, no thieving Spicer Lovejoy lying dead on the deck with a hole in his head. The reason soon became apparent when Cal turned the gun over and noticed there was no ammunition. A low moan of dismay escaped his lips and blew away on the breeze.

Lovejoy reached into his pocket and pulled out the gun clip. "Looking for this?" he asked pleasantly.

Cal turned ghostly pale, his face the color of fog. The gun slipped from his fingers and landed with a clunk on the deck. Seizing their opportunity, the officers surged forward and grabbed him by the arms. Cal howled like a dog all the way along the deck and through the hatch as he was dragged away to the brig. The crowd fell silent as Lovejoy bent to pick up his dropped gun.

"This is Emily," he said, dusting it off and replacing it in his holster. "You don't need to worry about her. She only works for me."

A senior officer approached warily. "You'd better hand that over," he said, holding out his hand.

"It's licenced," said Lovejoy. "You can check the gun registry."

"Even so. I'd feel much more comfortable if we kept it for you until we reach land."

"All right," said Lovejoy, removing the gun and placing it sideways down onto the officer's palm. "But do take care of her- she and others like her have served me well over the years. I'm an ex-Pink," he added, formally.

The officer nodded and pocketed the gun. "I shall take that into account."

Lovejoy dug into his pocket and handed over the clip. "You may as well have that too," he said. "Just in case I start fashioning weapons out of rubber bands."

"The Captain will want to question you," the officer said, putting the clip in his pocket. "Please don't make jokes like that in your statement."

Lovejoy smiled graciously. "I won't."

As the crowd dispersed, the senior officer pulled Lovejoy to one side and asked, "be honest with me. Is his fiancee on board? And what's this about a diamond?"

Lovejoy regarded the officer. Mindful of his authority and the friendly tone he had adopted, the valet simply stated, "he has always been prone to flights of fancy. The engagement was broken off aboard the Titanic, and the whereabouts of the diamond are a mystery. He won't tell you the truth of course. Just the Hockley version of events."

The officer didn't seem convinced, but he shook his head and let the matter go. "I need to be able to find you. Have you been allocated a cabin? Or are you bunking in one of the public spaces?"

"A cabin," said Lovejoy, smiling at the officer. "Cabin 28."


	16. Empty

**This is a bit of a long chapter but I didn't want to break it up. Also- Carpathia was a real ship but the officers in this story are all fictional.**

* * *

Cal was taken straight to the office of the First Mate where he was made to sit in a hard wooden chair while the officer stood in front of him. He was restless, angry, and confused, but not defeated. He demanded answers, tried to stand up, but was pushed down by a firm hand on his shoulder. He implored the gathering of senior crewmen, insisted he was innocent, raged that he had been pushed to the edge, and what would they do in his position?

"If I did what you did, I'd be looking at twenty years at least," said the Mate. "I'd lose my job, my career, my family, my home. What made you think you could get away with shooting a man?"

Cal scowled. "The gun was empty."

"You didn't know that."

"And you don't know who you're accusing. I'm Caledon Hockley. My father is Nathan Hockley."

The senior crew shared the same look between them.

"Hockley Steel," said Cal, vehemently.

"On land maybe, but not at sea."

"These ships wouldn't exist without steel," Cal muttered before raising his voice and changing tack. "Why haven't you arrested Mr. Lovejoy? He's stolen the two things I held most dear. My fiancee and my diamond. Make it three things- my pride and dignity as well." His gaze settled on a polished wood paperweight shaped like a ship's wheel on the Mate's desk. "Four things," he muttered inaudibly.

"We fully intend to question him," said the Mate. "But we're not having you in the same room together." He looked at the crewman standing sentry by the door. "Tell the Captain everything is under control."

"Aye sir." The man saluted and walked briskly away.

The Mate sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms. "Tell me everything," he said. "From the beginning."

Cal obliged, grateful for the chance to talk without being interrupted. "Rose is, or _was_ \- if you believe Lovejoy- my fiancee." His expression melted as he appeared to drift into the realms of fantasy. "Rose by name, and Rose by nature. The most beautiful creature you could ever wish to see."

The Mate raised his eyebrows but remained silent.

"Long ringlets of rich, auburn curls, a peaches and cream complexion, bright green eyes. I was madly in love with her. Ask her mother. She survived the wreck, she's here on board. Mrs. Ruth deWitt Bukater. I told her Rose was alive. Do you know what she did? She was so distraught at being abandoned by her own daughter that she fell to the ground in a dead faint. The doctor gave her medication and told her to rest. You'll have it all on record."

"Sir, there are over fifteen hundred people on board. Many in poor health, dozens injured, and some still in deep shock. Forgive me if you think I'm being insensitive, but one woman fainting at the news that her daughter survived is the least of our concerns."

"But surely First Class takes precedence over... " Cal couldn't bring himself to say 'Third Class' let alone 'steerage'. He screwed up his face in disgust.

"No, sir. An otherwise healthy First Class passenger does not take precedence over injured passengers of any other class. This is not a normal voyage. We expect decent human behaviour in an already stressful situation. We don't expect people to run amok with guns making our jobs worse than they already are."

"That isn't what happened," said Cal. "As I said, Rose and I were engaged. The perfect life was waiting for her- I gave her everything she could possibly want. And then she fell under the spell of a common street urchin who taught her how to swear and spit. Now she's aboard this ship, along with a diamond necklace that I bought her as a wedding gift, and appears to be in collusion with Mr. Lovejoy. Now if you were in my shoes, what conclusion would you reach? I believe I've been cuckolded and betrayed by someone I trusted, someone who was always at my side. It's a matter of honour for a gentleman to reclaim what is rightfully his."

"Surely not by violent means."

"By any means necessary. I can only apologise for letting anger get the best of me, not for what I intended to do."

"And _that_ is why you're in my office."

"Would you allow another man to steal your wife?"

"Certainly not."

"Then it hasn't happened to you yet. Because if it had, then you'd know exactly how I feel. You'd go to the ends of the earth to put things right." Cal fixed the man with a belligerent stare, then said, "I want Mr. Lovejoy arrested. I wish to press charges for assault. You know that he attacked me on the very morning we were plucked from the wreckage. He nearly broke my jaw."

"It was pandemonium that morning sir. Feelings were running high."

"I don't care. I'm pressing charges. He also tried to push me overboard."

The Mate sighed. "Very well." He went over to the officers at the door and spoke to them in hushed tones.

"I'm coming with you," said Cal, getting to his feet. Straightening his jacket and tie, he swept his hair back and waved away the Mate's protests. "I'm unarmed. I'm not dangerous. I've learned my lesson. And if 'feelings running high' is a reasonable defence, then I'm claiming it." He smiled his best charming Hockley smile. "I won't lay a finger on him. I just want to see his face."

"Shall I call the Captain?" asked an officer.

The Mate shook his head. "He's got far more pressing matters at hand. We'll be in New York in a day or so, let the authorities handle it there. Good lord, this is one journey I never wish to make again."

"Very well, sir." The officer fell in step alongside the First Mate, with the junor officer and Cal following behind. They strode purposefully through the ship until they reached the maze of second class corridors.

"Which cabin did he say he was in?" asked the Mate, eyes raking every door as they passed.

"28, sir."

They located the cabin swiftly and the First Mate knocked politely on the door. "Halloo," he said, in a non threatening tone. "This is First Officer Dennis. I'd like a word with Mr. Lovejoy. It won't take a moment."

There was no response for quite a while, then there was a vague rustling and banging noise from behind the door. Cal fidgeted impatiently, stopping when the junior officer shook his head in small, rapid motions.

The door opened and a young man's head appeared in the gap. His hair was light brown and very tousled. "Sorry. I was sleeping. What's going on?"

"I'm looking for a Mr. Lovejoy. He told us he was in this cabin."

The man blinked in confusion, visibly processing the name. "Ah! Yes. Mr. Lovejoy. Tall fellow, walks with a cane. Calls everyone sir." He broke out an expectant smile, like a dog who'd just learned a new trick and was waiting for a treat.

"Surely you'd know him if he's staying in this cabin," said Cal suspiciously.

"Yes, of course. But he comes and goes- he's hardly ever here. What's going on, anyway? Is this in relation to the commotion on the deck?"

The Mate ignored the question. "Is he here now?"

There was a shuffling sound from inside the cabin. The young man glanced behind him, shushed someone with a finger against his lips.

"Someone's in there," said the senior officer.

"It's not Mr. Lovejoy," the man said quickly. "I share the cabin with my brother, Gerald. We're Carpathia passengers, not Titanic survivors."

"Is that Gerald behind you?"

"No. Gerald isn't here either. He said he'd give me an hour or two." The man looked at their blank faces pointedly. "Look. Whatever this Mr. Lovejoy is embroiled with, Gerald and I are not criminals. I happen to be- _entertaining_ someone, if you must know."

Movement in the gap of the door caught the Mate's attention. A glimpse of bare shoulder, a sweep of very feminine hair and a draft of perfume. He looked away quickly and coughed. "I see," he said, weakly.

The man was keen to get back to business and was already trying to close the door. "Look. Just because we know who he is, doesn't mean we were involved in any scuffles he caused. He's not here and I don't know where he is." Just as he was about to close the door completely, the man suddenly brightened and his eager puppy expression returned. "Hold on! You might want to try looking for his friend."

Cal's ears pricked up. "His friend? Was she a girl, by any chance? Long, red hair, around eighteen years of age?"

The man shook his head. "No. He was a young lad. We were all up on deck talking. Nice fellow. Baby faced but quite streetwise. He and Mr. Lovejoy both escaped the Titanic."

"Albert!" The woman inside the cabin sounded petulant. "Shut the door and come back to bed."

The Mate and the two officers shuffled with embarrassment. Cal stepped forward with a questioning look.

"Does the name 'Rose' ring any bells?"

Albert was beginning to panic. "I don't know. Should it?"

Cal pressed closer, putting Albert on the back foot. "Mr. Lovejoy is, in fact, a dangerous man. Rose is a friend of mine, very sweet but a bit naive and easily led. She fell into bad company. The young man you describe sounds like Mr. Lovejoy's accomplice. Think of Fagin and the Artful Dodger. They are trying to hoodwink her out of a very large sum of money. If it is the boy I'm thinking of, then his name is- " Cal plucked a name out of thin air, "William."

"Jack," said Albert, before his face froze into a mask of realisation. "Oh shit."

Cal stepped back. He wore a sly, triumphant grin over a face that had turned a rather strange colour, pallid underneath but with bright points of red, like a not quite ripe apricot. "Well, well. Jack Dawson," he said, quietly. "It would appear that he survived after all." He turned to the First Mate and the senior officer. "Jack Dawson is our man. Find him and we'll find Rose and Lovejoy. And my missing diamond, which he already stole from me once, while aboard Titanic."

"Can I go now?" squeaked Albert, barely a third of his face visible through the door, one hazel eye grown wide in panic.

"Yes, you may. Sorry to disturb you. We won't be bothering you again."

The door to cabin 28 clicked firmly shut, and Cal turned to the Mate and the two officers with a haughty glare. "Unless you lock me away Mr. Dennis, I am going to knock on every single door of this ship until I find them. Now. We can check the lists of survivors for the name Dawson or we can begin knocking." he strode to the cabin door opposite with his hand raised and was quickly restrained.

"Back to my office," snapped the First Mate. "Where we will handcuff you, Mr. Hockley. Something we should have already done."

They returned to the office. The passenger lists were summoned and the officers began poring over them. They would not let Cal see the lists, even though he tried. They cross checked and flipped the sheets over, stroking their chins and taking their time.

"Oh come on! Just look at the Ds."

"We are looking at the Ds. There are lots of them."

"Dawson. D-A." Cal paced and muttered under his breath. "Or perhaps the list isn't in alphabetical order. Perhaps it was all written down willy-nilly."

"For goodness sakes, 'cuff him," said the First Mate wearily.

"To what?" asked the junior officer. He approached Cal rather warily with a pair of handcuffs that drew a look of complete disgust from the heir to the Hockley fortune.

"To yourself. That way we won't lose him."

Unsure whether the First Mate was joking or not, the junior officer snapped the cuffs onto himself and Cal while Cal stared at him incredulously.

"I do hope you have the key," he asked, lifting the hand that was now joined to the officer's.

" _I_ have it," said the First Mate. He glared at Cal before returning to the list. "It appears we have a Mr. and Mrs. J. Dawson in cabin 117."

"That's them!" Cal jerked his arms up and the junor officer complained that his wrist hurt. "She's calling herself Dawson now. The bloody nerve of that girl! Lovejoy lied about cabin 28, too. Trying to throw us all off the trail. That's typical of him. Thinks he can say what he wants and get away with it."

The First Mate scanned the Ls. "Lovejoy, Spicer. No cabin assignation." He looked up at Cal. "But that doesn't mean anything if he was offered a bunk by the original occupants instead of approaching a member of the crew."

"Trust me," said Cal. "I know all of that man's tricks. In fact I employed many of them myself."

"I've no doubt," said the Mate, with one raised eyebrow.

"So now you're beginning to see who's telling the truth. Just because I get emotional and lose my temper doesn't make me a liar. Those three people have just about ruined my life in the last week and I'm not going to put up with it any more. I might be a very rich man, but I'm not an idiot, I'm not spoiled, and I am definitely not going to allow my future wife to whore around with gutter rats and dirty old goats who are clearly after a slice of my fortune."

"I don't know what to believe anymore," the First Mate confessed. "We're full to the brim with men, women and children. We have partial families and young orphans, and badly injured people who will never recover from their ordeal. Everyone is searching for someone. But you and Mr. Lovejoy are the only two who have turned this ship into a battleground. Apes in the zoo behave better than the two of you. You should both be ashamed. All because of some bloody necklace? The sooner we reach land the better."

Cal huffed rudely. "It's not any old 'bloody necklace'. It comes from the court of a king and is worth several million dollars. It's an heirloom."

"And you really think they stole it?"

"Take me to Cabin 117," said Cal curtly. "We'll conduct a search for the diamond. I'll drop all charges if we find it. If not, you must arrest everyone in that cabin for theft."

The Mate rolled his eyes. "If there is no diamond necklace, then there is no theft."

"Oh, but there will be," said Cal. "There will be."

oOoOoOo

"Cabin 28," said Jack with a laugh. "What the hell made you say that?"

Lovejoy propped his cane against a chair and smiled ruefully. "First number that came to mind."

"But I barely met those guys! They could be anybody!"

"They offered to help. You heard them."

Jack rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure they were just being polite."

Lovejoy tried not to show mild annoyance at this upstart trying to tell him his business, but there was no mistaking the twitch of his jaw. "Sometimes you have to act first and think later."

"Yeah," said Jack. "There's been a lot of that going on lately."

"Well, I think it's a clever move," said Brighid. "Don't you, Rose?"

Rose nodded. "Very clever."

"See?" said Lovejoy. "The ladies agree."

Jack scoffed goodnaturedly. "They're just feeling sorry for you."

Lovejoy glared sternly at Jack before the group of four relaxed and started laughing.

"Who cares what happens, my love?" said Brighid. "The four of us stand strong!"

"All for one and one for all," said Rose, her eyes shining brightly.

"And nothing for Cal!" said Jack.

Lovejoy took off his suit jacket and hung it in the closet next to Cal's coat. He went to sit on the bed next to Brighid, who began massaging his shoulders.

"You're so tense," she murmured, kneading and squeezing him into a pleasant lull.

"Hockley tried to shoot me. If I hadn't the forethought to remove the bullets I wouldn't be sitting here now."

"Good God," she said, staring up at Jack. "Did you know anything about this?"

Jack shook his head.

Lovejoy closed his eyes as Brighid's fingers worked their magic. "He took me by surprise although I should have expected it really, since he's done it before. Then again I very nearly pushed him overboard, so I am not entirely blameless."

"Sounds like we missed quite an event," said Rose.

"There was a bit of a scuffle," Lovejoy admitted. "I had to give up my gun."

"Did they arrest him?" she asked, unable to disguise her hope.

"They led him away for questioning. Hopefully he'll be there for a while."

"Why didn't they take you, too?"

"Because I promised to be a good boy and told them where they could find me."

"In cabin 28," said Jack, with another shake of his head. "Those guys are going to be so confused."

"I ought to get along there and brief them on what to expect." A wave of exhaustion came over Lovejoy and he flopped back onto the bed. "I'm too old for all this," he sighed. "My feet hurt, my legs ache and my back is stiff as a board."

Brighid gave a knowing chuckle.

Lovejoy glanced up at her, pursed his lips primly. "What could possibly be funny," he asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Nothing, my love. Sometimes people use laughter as a way of coping."

He cracked a smile at last and lifted his hand to softly stroke her arm. "I know what you're thinking. And yes, you may take some of the credit."

Rose went over to the porthole and looked out into the darkness. "You just can't reason with a Hockley," she murmured, fixing her gaze on the indistinct horizon.

"No," said Lovejoy. "I suppose I was far too optimistic in thinking he'd want to discuss things rationally. I won't even tell you half the things he accused me of."

Brighid bit her lip and looked across at Rose. The younger woman's face was in profile, softly curved and serenely beautiful, a distant, almost regretful look in her eye. As though sensing Brighid's discomfort, Lovejoy curled his fingers around her thin forearm and squeezed gently.

"Not a word of it was true."

He lay on the bed for a few moments and then sat up. His nerves were being frayed by a persistent tapping noise. He saw that Jack was leaning against the wash stand, fingernails tapping out a monotonous beat on the porcelain bowl. "Would you please stop that?"

"I'm bored," said Jack. "And restless. Once again we're cooped up in the cabin with nowhere to go."

"It's late," said Lovejoy. "Time for normal people to go to bed."

"Things stopped being normal a long time ago. Heck _, people_ stopped being normal a long time ago."

Lovejoy knuckled his eyes and yawned. "I'm not going to argue with you."

Jack folded his arms with his hands tucked under his armpits. "Anyway. Shouldn't you be in cabin 28?"

"I suppose I should."

Lovejoy gave Brighid, who was clearly disappointed, a lingering kiss on the lips before getting up off the bed and reaching for his cane. "No rest for the wicked," he said, going to the door.

"Want me to come with you?" Jack asked.

"No," said Lovejoy, firmly.

"Stay here, Jack," pleaded Rose, turning from the porthole. "Lovejoy can handle things."

Lovejoy turned and smiled bleakly at all of them. "Lovejoy deserves a nice retirement after all this."

"You'll get one," promised Brighid, watching Rose as she left the porthole and crossed the room.

Lovejoy opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Rose followed, just a step over the threshold.

"Lovejoy," she said, making him wait a moment. "I'm so sorry for what I've put you through. I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Nobody did," he said reassuringly. "Nobody expected an unsinkable ship to sink either." He looked down at his feet, resplendent in brand new shoes that hid the dark injuries underneath. That was life, he supposed. Put something beautiful over something ugly and carry on like a fool.

Rose stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, taking him by surprise. "I'm glad we're friends now," she said, melting his heart just a little more with the hopeful sparkle in her eyes. "We'll be all right in New York, honest we will. A brand new life, a brand new future- everything's going to work out."

Lovejoy allowed Rose to embrace him while he dared to rest his cheek on top of her shimmering curls. His mind raced with thoughts of this bright future she predicted, one where he might be happy, or at least content with his lot. He sighed heavily, taking her softness into his arms, for one all-too brief moment of forgiveness and reconciliation.

"You're a very special lady, Miss Rose," he told her. "You were a worthy adversary and now you're a noble friend. Our alliance can only get stronger from here."

Rose left his embrace to say something suitable in return, but the words never left her lips. Coming towards them at full speed down the corridor was Cal, dragging a junior officer to whom he was handcuffed, with a gaggle of senior officers behind. He was beside himself with rage at the sight of Rose in Lovejoy's arms. He was the epitome of arrogant triumph and jealous fury. The junior officer was almost on his knees, clutching his bleeding wrist.

"For the love of God, sir! Please stop running!"

Ignoring everyone, Cal elbowed Lovejoy aside and stormed into cabin 117. Jack flew up from the chair he'd been occupying and Brighid scooted up the bed to wedge herself into the corner. When Cal finally spoke, his voice crackled like Autumn leaves in a bonfire.

"Every single one of you is a lying, cheating thief!"

"Now you just hold on," said Jack, angrily.

"As for you, you filthy mongrel, you've sullied her with your dirty hands, and that wretched lizard over there, God only knows what _he's_ done to her! I knew it all along! The only one who's ever told the truth here is me!" Cal spun around, looking all over the room. His gaze alighted on Brighid. "I see you're involved, too. I can't think why they'd want to split the money four ways instead of three, but who knows how rats' minds work?"

Brighid curled her lip. "You piece of shit!"

"You two-bit prostitute!"

Brighid's eyes flew wide. "All the money in the world couldn't tempt me to lie down with you."

Cal snorted. "So you admit it."

"Not at all. But I wouldn't want to spoil your dirty fantasies."

Lovejoy, Rose and the senior officers had all crammed themselves into the small cabin.

"The Captain is on his way," said another man, standing outside.

"Give me the diamond," said Cal to Rose. "Give it to me this minute."

"I don't have it," she spat, her eyes flashing furiously.

"Give it to me!"

"I don't have it!"

With the junior officer in tow, Cal started opening cupboards. There weren't that many places to look without conducting full body searches of the room's occupants. The shelves under the washstand were empty. He peered into the commode which was also, thankfully, empty. Then he remembered.

"My coat," he said, striding to the closet. "It was in my coat."

Lovejoy put out his hand. "You don't have permission to do a search!"

"I don't need it!" claimed Cal. He threw open the closet door and there was his coat, nestled in the darkness next to Lovejoy's suit jacket. Everyone fell silent as the Hockley gaze narrowed to a single point. He stared at his coat like a jaguar stalking its prey.

There was more commotion in the corridor as people began opening doors to see what the fuss was about. The captain arrived, demanding to know 'the meaning of all this'. First Mate Dennis began apologising, his face pale and sweaty. Lovejoy tried to assure the captain that everything was under control.

"That's the third time I've been told that tonight!" the captain retorted. "If this is everyone's idea of control then I'd hate to see lack of it!"

Cal removed the coat and its hanger from the closet with his free hand. He looked it up and down as though admiring the handiwork that had gone into making it. After a long, self-indulgent pause, he hooked the hanger over the top of the closet door and put his hand deep into the left pocket. The smile slipped from his face.

"Nothing there," he muttered.

He put his hand into the other pocket but that was empty too.

His face turned white.

Fingers scrabbling, Cal tried the other pocket once more as though the necklace might have appeared by magic while he was searching elsewhere. He slipped his hand inside the coat and tried the inside breast pocket. He ran his fingers along the hem, feeling for anything that might have been stitched in. He wrenched the coat from the hanger and shook it wildly, hoping the precious gem would fall out of a hidden space, while his captive audience stared at him in silent horror. Finally he threw the coat on the floor and stamped on it.

"It's not here," he wailed. "It's not here!"

"I told you," said Rose firmly. "I don't have it!"

"They stole it," Cal pleaded with the captain, who gestured to his men to take their prisoner away. "You must believe me! They stole my diamond!"

Rose shook her head. "It sank with the Titanic," she said, locking eyes with Cal. "The Heart of the Ocean is now at the bottom of the ocean. I'm sorry, Cal. But you will insist on having your own way."

"Wait!" said Cal, struggling against the grip of three men. "Lovejoy, your shoes! Take them off!"

Lovejoy stared at his former boss. "Pardon me?"

"Your shoes! They're new! You started wearing them right after you bumped into me! I'll wager you've got the diamond hidden under your foot!"

Lovejoy shook his head. "What a ridiculous notion."

"Please!" Cal begged, his hair hanging in greasy hanks over his eyes, making him look like a mad man. "Just take them off."

"All right," said Lovejoy. Slowly he removed his shoes to show everyone there was no diamond necklace anywhere to be seen. "Are you satisfied now?"

Cal let out a small, choking sob. "Why, Lovejoy? Why? Why have you done this to me?"

Standing in his socks, Lovejoy squared up against Cal and stared the younger man down. "You didn't care whether I lived or died. Why should it matter what I say or do now?"

"Dammit, man! The ship was going down- I wasn't thinking straight!"

"Oh but you _were_ , Mr. Hockley. You were thinking very straight. You wanted your revenge on Miss Rose. You wanted her and Mr. Dawson dead and I was merely the collateral damage. You decided that if you couldn't have her, then nobody would, but you were too much of a coward to pursue her yourself. Hasn't that always been the Hockley way?"

Cal's face turned miserable. "I don't know any other way."

"Then it's time you learned some."

Cal's arms fell to his sides. "I'm done struggling," he said quietly. "I've no strength left. Arrest me and have done with it."

Rose stepped closer to her former fiance, despite Jack's protests. "What's done is done, Cal. I am so sorry about the diamond, but I really think it's time we all moved on."

Cal stared at her, bewildered. "How am I supposed to move on without you, Rose?"

"The same way you would have moved on had you believed I was dead."

"But what about Ruth? What about your mother? She's on her sickbed, Rose!"

"My mother will be fine. She always is."

Cal followed the captain and officers into the corridor. He looked quashed and defeated. "Then there's nothing left to say. You've won, Rose. Enjoy your victory and your collusion with lesser men. I just hope it lasts."

"Do you wish me to come with you?" asked Lovejoy, readying his cane.

"No," said Cal. "We've nothing more to say. I won't press charges if you don't. All I want now is to lie down and sleep." He shook the hair out of his eyes and stood still while First Mate Dennis unlocked the handcuffs. "By the way. Tell your friend in cabin 28 that he's an even worse liar than you are."

The disturbance finally over, all curious passengers returned to their cabins and closed their doors. Lovejoy watched Cal mope along the corridor flanked by officers, feeling nothing but a sort of detached pity for the man. Once he was sure they were gone, he shut the door and leaned against it to face his three companions.

"Christ, I'm glad that's over," he declared, before lifting Cal's coat off the floor with the end of his cane. "I have just one question. Where exactly _is_ the diamond?"

Brighid looked at Lovejoy, a picture of perfect innocence. "This may surprise you my love, but you're not the only one with friends."

Lovejoy stared at her. "Did you defy my instructions to stay put?"

Jack began laughing, breaking the tension with pure relief. "Looks like both our girls have trouble with instructions!"

Brighid smiled sweetly. "And isn't it a good thing that I did?" She got up and walked over to Lovejoy, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Think of the trouble we'd be in now if he'd found the diamond."

"She's got you there, Lovejoy," said Jack, delightedly.

"You disobeyed a direct order," said Lovejoy, once more mired in Brighid's sensual gaze.

"And what are you going to do about that, Mr. Big Shot?"

"I shall probably have to punish you," he replied, stony faced.

Wanting to bring Rose in on the joke, Jack looked for her across the room. She was back at the porthole, lost in thought, chewing the edge of her finger.

"Rose isn't happy," he said softly. He patted Lovejoy's arm and went to Rose, putting his arms around her. She buried her face in his neck and held him tightly and soon she started to sob.

"It's all too much for her," said Lovejoy, wishing he could do something to ease her pain.

"She's going through a transition," said Brighid, leaning into him. "You know, you can hate someone and still miss them- still wonder at what might have been."

Lovejoy looked down at her. "Are you speaking from experience?"

She smiled at him, a flash of sadness in her eyes. "We should go and fetch the diamond, give them some time to be alone."

"Good idea," said Lovejoy.

"You'll find I'm full of them," she said, reaching for the door.


	17. That's What Friends Are For

Arm in arm, Lovejoy and Brighid walked quietly through the corridors. There were still people around, though not as many. One man told them he couldn't sleep. He couldn't lay still because he kept thinking about the night before. He was afraid the same thing would happen to Carpathia. Brighid was sympathetic, Lovejoy less so, but only because he was still conditioned not to show weakness. Instead he listened to Brighid's words of comfort and slowly began to realise that this was the woman he'd quite like to share the rest of his life with. The man's expression relaxed and his entire demeanour seemed less rigid, less wary. He thanked Brighid for her kind words and assured her he'd go to the lounge and find somewhere to bunk and be with other people despite his new fear of crowds. They watched him walk away down the passage and Brighid sighed sadly, tightening her grip on Lovejoy's arm.

"This is going to be devastating for so many people," she said quietly. "For so many years to come."

"You're right," said Lovejoy. "And that was a beautiful thing you just did, by the way."

Her eyes brightened as she stared up at him. "That's high praise coming from you- and I'm deeply thankful for it. Although I was only trying to help the poor man. He looked quite lost."

"You mustn't underestimate yourself. I give praise where it's due. You handled it perfectly, in spite of your own loss." They carried on down the corridor and he added, "I've spent a lifetime observing people. I know sincerity when I see it."

"Spicer Lovejoy, the all-seeing eye, the man who lurks in shadows until someone comes along to get him drunk." She laughed softly and bumped against him, bringing forth a grumpy chuckle. "I'm starting to feel Rosemary and Michael around me again. It seems to happen when I'm feeling brighter and more hopeful- like when we first came aboard, I felt them so strongly. Then they vanished as I sank further into sadness, now they're back again. Why do you think that is?"

"They want you to be happy," he said simply.

"Are ye sure it's not me being selfish and using it as an excuse to be happy?"

He shook his head. "Happiness is so fleeting we shouldn't need to make excuses for it. We should enjoy it while we can, because it so rarely happens."

"It's true," she admitted. "I'll tell you my story one day. About how I was in love with a man who didn't love me and instead fell in love with my sister." Her gaze drifted off into the distance. "Michael should have been mine," she said. "And I loved him as if he were."

An icy chill gripped Lovejoy inside his chest, as though he were back in the water. He was more shocked than he ought to have been. He had barely given a thought to any other men in her life since she was unmarried and therefore, in his eyes, had never been in love. He didn't care to think that she might have been a prostitute and had winced when Cal Hockley had called her one. But this revelation came as a surprise. He almost wished she _had_ been a prostitute because now he had to get used to the idea of not being the first man to claim her heart. That was ridiculous of course, but he couldn't help the way he felt. Perhaps this was payback for the way he'd treated Ruby and the others he didn't dare think about. Revenge was a dish best served cold.

"Do you want children?" he blurted.

"Of course I want children."

He cleared his throat gruffly. "Well. There are plenty of orphans on board. Perhaps we," he corrected himself quickly, "you could adopt one."

She leaned closer into him, her hands slipping further up his arm. "That's a lovely idea," she said. "Perhaps we... I can."

They said no more about it as Brighid steered him towards a door that was exactly the same as all the other doors. The same as cabin 28, the same as cabin 117. She hadn't got lost even once on their way here. Brighid fidgeted slightly before raising her small hand and knocking softly.

"That will surely wake up not only the occupants of this room but the entire row," Lovejoy joked.

"You do it then."

Lovejoy drew back his fist, making Brighid laugh.

"Forget what I said!" She knocked again, just a little louder, and they were soon rewarded by the sound of the door quietly unlocking. A few seconds later it opened and a woman's wary face looked out.

"Brighid! I had a feeling you'd be back."

Lovejoy recognised her but couldn't remember a name.

"Fliss," said Brighid with an apologetic smile. "I woke you. I'm so sorry."

"Pay no mind," said Fliss, opening the door wide and inviting them in. She was dressed in a full length nightgown, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Lovejoy hesitated but she waved him in with a grin. "We're all adults here."

There was another woman in the room. She was sitting up in bed, similarly dressed, with untidy straw blond hair sticking up at all angles.

"I'm Emmy," she said. "Fliss and I are travelling together. I met your friend, Rose."

"Any friend of Rose's is a friend of mine," said Brighid, as if she'd known both Rose and Emmy all her life.

"We're going to Europe," said Fliss. "We'll be more accepted there."

Brighid understood immediately but it took Lovejoy another second to notice that one bunk was barely slept in. When the penny dropped his face went pink. "Oh," he said. "Oh, well- yes. Europe is certainly the place to be."

All three women laughed at his embarrassment. "Sit down sir," said Fliss, "before you faint."

Lovejoy sat in the nearest chair. "It takes more than that to make me faint," he muttered, although clearly he was pleased to take the weight off his feet.

"Right," said Fliss. "I suppose you've come for your valuables."

"Yes," said Brighid. "And we dodged a bullet there- literally, in Mr. Lovejoy's case."

"Yes, we heard. News travels fast." Fliss looked over at Lovejoy and smirked. "Life in the old dog yet."

"Don't you start," grumbled Lovejoy. "I'll have you know... "

"You were a Pinkerton Detective," said Emmy.

Lovejoy's shoulders slumped. "I'm outnumbered," he complained, shaking his head.

"If women ruled the world there'd be no secrets," Emmy said, winking at him.

"The former owner of said valuable turned up to look for it," Brighid went on. She told the two women in detail about Cal's raid on their cabin. They looked aghast. Fliss sat down on the end of Emmy's bunk with her hand over her mouth.

"I worked for him for years," said Lovejoy. "But even I didn't anticipate that level of doggedness. Not after what happened." They all briefly discussed the Titanic tragedy before Fliss reached under the mattress of the undisturbed bunk and pulled out the shoe bag.

"Here it is. And I promise neither of us looked inside. What you don't know can't hurt you, and all that."

"You can look now, if you want," said Lovejoy.

Without needing to be told twice, Fliss opened the bag and peered inside.

"What? What is it, Fliss?" Emmy noticed her lover's shocked expression and climbed out of bed, kneeling on the other bunk to look into the bag. "Oh my God!"

Fliss lifted out the necklace while Brighid went over and sat crossways on Lovejoy's lap, her arms around his neck, grinning widely at their reactions.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Guess how much it's worth!"

"Trillions!" exclaimed Emmy.

"At least billions," said Fliss.

"Try millions," said Brighid, laughing.

"It's beautiful. It really is. I've never seen such depth or so many colours. It's like looking into the night sky."

"It's called the Heart of the Ocean," said Lovejoy.

"I'm not surprised. It's incredible."

"I wish we could share it," said Brighid.

Fliss put the diamond gently into the bag and handed it to Brighid. "I'm sure you'll find a way," she said with a smile. "You don't strike me as the kind of people who'd keep somehing like this to yourselves."

Brighid and Lovejoy said their goodbyes and everyone promised to keep in touch even if they had no idea where they'd be living. "Mr. Lovejoy and I are thinking of opening up our own detective agency," said Brighid.

Lovejoy stared at her. "We are?"

"Won't it be grand, though, my love? My beauty and your brains."

Fliss and Emmy laughed. "He looks like he found a hair in his soup," said Fliss.

"That means he's happy," said Brighid.

Lovejoy put both hands on Brighid's shoulders and steered her towards the door. "We shall be going now, ladies. Thank you for your help. We _will_ find a way to reimburse you, that you can be sure of."

"Look after that diamond," said Fliss, opening the door for them.

"Don't worry," said Lovejoy. "We will."

Fliss gave them both a hug. "I meant Brighid here, not the necklace."

Once out in the corridor, and with the diamond nestled deep in Lovejoy's pocket, they resumed their walk along the corridors, debating whether to return to cabin 117 or give Jack and Rose more time.

"The irony of two couples sharing the same cabin is that we end up not sharing it at all," said Lovejoy. "But at least we don't have to worry about Mr. Hockley anymore."

"I hope you're certain of that."

"I'm one hundred percent certain the captain doesn't want any more trouble aboard his ship. Did you see his face? The poor man deserves a medal."

"So where do we go? Back to the deck? Or somewhere warmer, like the lounge, or the library?"

"I'd rather be with you only," Lovejoy confessed. "Even if it's just to fall asleep in your arms."

She nestled closer as they walked. "That would be lovely. I must admit I am starting to feel very tired."

"To hell with it," said Lovejoy. "Let's go back to the cabin. I can hide the diamond somewhere safe and then we can sleep. I'm exhausted. My feet ache. I keep having flashbacks of water over my head."

"All right," said Brighid, her voice full of concern. "I suppose they can't argue with that."

When they finally reached cabin 117, Lovejoy rapped five times on the door and was startled when Jack opened it right away.

"Thank God," he said as they went in quickly. "We were worried you might have been ambushed."

"And we thought you might not want to be disturbed," said Lovejoy, seeing Rose bundled up under the covers with a deer-like expression.

"We couldn't sleep," said Jack. "Not until we knew you were safe."

"Are you all right, Miss Rose?" Lovejoy asked.

"I'm fine," she answered, smiling gratefully. "Thank you."

Lovejoy didn't press the issue. Jack climbed back into bed beside Rose, pulling the sheets up to their chins. Lovejoy began undressing, taking off his suit jacket and putting it back in the closet. He took the necklace out of the shoe bag and slotted it into his empty gun holster and then hid the holster behind the washstand.

"That diamond has been everywhere," said Jack, oblivious to Brighid's secret smile.

"I hope Fliss guarded it with her life," said Rose.

Lovejoy straightened up, rubbing the small of his back. "Your friends certainly turned out to be more reliable than mine."

Rose and Jack snuggled together. Lovejoy turned out the light and continued undressing. When he was down to his vest and undershorts he slipped into bed beside Brighid who was also in her undergarments even though he hadn't noticed her taking off her clothes.

"Don't make too much noise," said Jack. His voice sounded deadpan in the dark while Rose giggled beside him.

"Don't worry," said Lovejoy. "We shouldn't want to make you youngsters jealous."

Brighid exploded in a roar of laughter. "You're not wrong, my love. We could teach them a thing or two, eh?"

"Oh God," whimpered Jack. "Just go to sleep."

Lovejoy wrapped his arms tightly around the still giggling Brighid, cocooning them both under the bedsheets. He barely had time to register the scent of her skin before a cresting wave of sleep engulfed him, drowning him in slumber.


	18. In Dreams

Lovejoy was back on Titanic, pointing his gun at Rose.

"I've been looking for you, miss."

The terrified look on her face gave him a feeling of malicious satisfaction. She and her gutter rat would pay dearly for all the trouble they'd caused. Their bodies would go down with the ship and no one would ever know he had murdered them. Shooting people was easy if you didn't see them as people in the first place.

Rose peered up at him, resigned to her fate. He regarded her as coldly as a wolf stares down its prey. She was a pretty little thing, even with her hair in rat's tails, but she'd wasted all her chances. He had no more time for her. One squeeze of the trigger and she'd be gone- and the Heart of the Ocean woud be his.

His smile grew evil and wicked. Such power he wielded in that moment.

But out of nowhere, a human missile launched itself at him, knocking him off his feet in a tempest of fury. Rose disappeared from sight as the gutter rat pressed his arm down onto Lovejoy's throat, pushing his face underwater. He couldn't breathe. He really couldn't breathe! He began to struggle wildly.

Lovejoy threw off his restraints and bolted upright. He was sure he'd screamed, could feel it in the air. Brighid sat up wth him, murmuring gently. Hers were the arms that had been pinning him down.

"I couldn't breathe," he gasped, clutching at her hands. "I couldn't breathe."

"It's all right, my love. It was only a dream."

"I'm so sorry," he said, first to Brighid and then to the startled occupants of the other bed.

"For what, sweetheart?"

"For everything."

Jack sat up and raked hair out of his eyes, scratching his head and yawning.

"I had a nightmare too," said Rose. "I dreamed about jumping off the stern, but Jack wasn't there and Cal pushed me to my death. I woke up just before I hit the water."

"I dreamed Fabrizio and Helga were with us," said Jack. "I feel like I really let them down."

"I dreamed I was back in Ireland," said Brighid.

"That's not a nightmare," said Lovejoy, still holding tightly to her hands.

"We all have our traps," she replied enigmatically.

Lovejoy wiped cold sweat from the back of his neck. "I _never_ dream," he complained.

"Everyone dreams."

"I don't," he insisted, his jaw tightening in the old familiar way.

"All right, Big Man. I won't argue with ye."

Lovejoy looked over at Rose. "I was going to kill you," he said. "In my dream. In the dining room- I wasn't going to help you, I was going to kill you. It felt so real- as though events could have really gone that way if something hadn't changed inside me. How terrifying it would have been if I'd pulled the trigger." His hand went to his mouth as he held back a wave of nausea.

A heavy silence fell over the group, filling the space left by Lovejoy's wakening yell. Outside it was getting lighter and lighter, another April morning on the way. The sea was a little choppy, the sky streaked with pink and gray, painting the same colours onto Rose's cheeks and Jack's hair.

"We still have unfinished business," said Rose at last. "After all, leopards don't completely change their spots." She softened her words with a smile. "You're probably trying to counsel yourself, Mr. Lovejoy. God knows you won't accept counselling from anyone else."

Lovejoy grinned wryly. "You know me too well."

Rose shook her head. "I don't know you at all. You're full of dark tunnels and false exits. Cal's mood swings were bad enough, but you never showed any emotion at all."

"Yes, well. That's all going to change," Lovejoy insisted. "I wasn't born bad. I _became_ bad."

"You don't have to completely stop being bad," said Brighid, running her hand up the back of his sweat soaked undershirt. "If you know what I mean."

Lovejoy barked out a laugh. "Could you _be_ any more obvious?"

"Aw come on," said Jack. "Here's Rose and I, trying hard not to tear each others' clothes off, and you two are behaving like cats in heat."

"Meow," said Brighid, reducing Rose to a fit of giggles that broke the tension.

Lovejoy laid back down and pulled the sheets up over himself and Brighid. "I don't feel ready to face the day," he said quietly. "It's all starting to catch up with me."

"Gotta eat, Lovejoy," said Jack. "And all that other stuff."

"I don't want to bump into any more people from First Class."

"We've not encountered my mother yet," said Rose.

"Exactly," said Lovejoy. He shifted his head on the pillow. "And while we're on the subject, how do you intend to deal with _that_ little matter?"

Rose stared up at the ceiling. "I've decided to write her a letter," she said. "I'm going to explain everything in a way that I couldn't do if I spoke to her. I don't want to give her any chance to interrupt. I'll tell her I'm not a child anymore. I'm not her toy, nor her escape route out of poverty. She has to do that herself. The trouble with rich people is that they feel so entitled to everything they have. They really are like spoilt little brats."

"Sterling idea," said Lovejoy. "Let me know if you need any help- I have some choice words that I learned from Hockley Senior."

"Not sure my mother could cope with that."

"Well, the offer is there if you need it."

"You're too kind, Mr. Lovejoy. Thank you for not shooting me."

He swallowed tightly but said nothing.

"I'd like to go down to Third Class and see who survived," said Jack. "I think I owe it to my friends for not staying with them."

"I wouldn't mind coming with ye," said Brighid. "As a fellow steerage passenger. I need to find the girls."

Jack nodded. "Sure. We can go while Rose writes her letter and Lovejoy keeps his lazy ass in bed."

"Aren't you going to stay with me?" Lovejoy asked Brighid in what sounded suspiciously like a whiny little boy voice.

"I'm not going to indulge your self-pity," she replied sternly.

"Oh my goodness," Rose giggled.

"Don't get ideas," said Jack, ruffling Rose's curls.

"It's not self-pity, woman. I'm exhausted."

"Well then, ye don't need me to exhaust you more."

He folded his arms around her. "Yes, I do. There's bad exhaustion and good exhaustion. You can guess which one you are."

"Anyone know what time it is?" asked Jack, pointedly.

"Time for you to leave," said Lovejoy, nuzzling his face into Brighid's hair.

Jack got out of bed and went to the porthole. With tremendous effort he managed to open it just enough to let in the sea breezes. A waft of briny air filled the cabin, bringing with it the welcome scent of the outside world. A stripe of light bisected his face, his hair ruffled as he looked out at the endless ocean.

"We've cleared the ice," he announced. "Full steam ahead for the Big Apple."

Rose got out of bed behind him and began filling the washbasin with water from a jug. There was soap and clean towels in the washstand cupboard. The issue of using the commode was delicately broached. They all came to an understanding. Basic human needs had to be met and the ship was full of people in the same position. Many of them didn't even have cabins of their own. They would each use the commode while the others looked away and trust Carpathia's plumbing to dispose of it.

"There's always the porthole," said Jack. "If you're not too worried about splashback."

"Don't be disgusting," said Rose.

"We're married, Rose. We can talk about all that stuff. Remember who taught you to spit."

"Not officially married, Jack. I still want a church service, carriage and horses."

"Better sell the diamond then."

"That diamond is mine," bantered Lovejoy. "That's my retirement, and possibly an artificial hip if this pain goes on."

"Do you know what's best for pain?" said Brighid. "Movement."

Rose and Jack busied themselves getting washed and dressed while Lovejoy and Brighid snuggled up to each other.

"Ugh," said Jack. "It's like watching your parents make out."

"Stop watching then," said Lovejoy, his voice muffled by Brighid's neck.

"At least wait 'til we're gone."

"I'm still brushing my hair," said Rose.

"Jeez," said Jack, "we'll be here for hours."

"Excuse me," said Rose, "one day I won't have these luxurious locks and then you'll be sorry."

"I'm not marrying you for your hair, Rose."

"Listen to them," said Brighid. "You'd think _we_ were the young ones."

Rose and Jack were finally ready to go.

"We're going to have breakfast, and then we'll go to the library and Rose can write her letter," said Jack. "So if you want to find us, we'll be in one of those two places."

"We'll be along soon my darling," said Brighid, looking anything but ready to leave the confines of her bed and the arms of Lovejoy.

Jack opened the door and ushered Rose into the corridor. "All right then. Have fun," he said, shutting the door behind them.

"They are precious," said Brighid, smiling at Lovejoy's bemused expression. "If they were any younger I'd adopt them."

"Why not pick up some stray cats while you're at it?"

She nudged him under the blankets with her knee. "Wipe that look off your face. You know you've grown fond of them."

"I have," he admitted. "Which is why that dream came as something of a shock."

She regarded him closely. Their faces were barely six inches apart. Not for the first time she felt a little unnerved by his eyes, as pale blue as the underside of a glacier.

"You wouldn't shoot a young girl, would you?" She bit her lip, a little apprehensive of his answer.

"I'd do whatever was required of me," he replied, coolly.

"But surely not a child... ?"

"I stopped being a child at fifteen. I'm sure you grew up quickly too. But to answer your question, I have never shot a young girl. I was never trigger-happy, you see. I was always in control."

"But was that control due to the fact you were following orders? Or are you naturally a controlled person?"

He blinked, his thoughts turning inwards. "I'm not sure anymore. I feel like I'm losing my sense of purpose. For instance, it's most unusual for me not to want to get up."

"Ah. But there could be another reason for that." She dared to wink at him.

"Besides _that_ ," he said with a goodnatured grimace. "I was always up with the lark, and often didn't sleep at all. There's always been the motivation to get up. Now there isn't."

"Remember what I said to Fliss about our own detective agency? That would give you plenty of motivation. And you'd be working for yourself- no one telling you who to shoot or not."

"I never went around all day shooting people," he said. "One flash of Emily was often all that was needed to restore order."

"And I bet you flashed her quite a lot, didn't you?"

Lovejoy sighed heavily. "You have to drag everything down to gutter level."

"I was talking about your gun," she said innocently. "I don't know what _you're_ thinking of. Your mind must already be in the gutter."

"Where it plunged the moment we met," he said smoothly. "I knew you were trouble the minute I laid eyes on you." His hands snaked towards her under the sheets, making her squirm and giggle.

"There's nothing wrong with not feeling motivated," she said when they finally calmed down. "We're not going anywhere until we reach land. We ought to just celebrate being alive." Her cheeks flushed pink as her chest rose and fell, aware that his eyes were upon her. "Really, my love. Don't worry about it. Crossroads come to us all- they are there to be navigated."

Lovejoy settled atop her, stroking dark hair from her shining brow. "You're rather wise for an old scrubber," he said, straight faced.

"Oh! You cheeky swain, look who's talking! Old scrubber indeed! Says the drunk who couldn't keep his hands to himself! I was thinking of joining a convent before you came along and corrupted me, good sir!"

They fell into shared laughter, rolling around in the sheets like a couple of teenagers. Lovejoy yelped at a twinge in his lower back. Brighid squealed as her hair became trapped under his elbow. Somehow in the middle of the melee they managed to make love, still giggling, still teasing one another with happy insults. And afterwards, when they were too tired to talk, they fell asleep together, limbs entwined, all thoughts banished from their minds.


	19. Suffer the Children

_Dear Mother,_

 _I was so happy to learn that you survived the sinking of Titanic. The child that I used to be longs to run into your arms, but the woman I have become has been made weary by our constant battles. I felt it would be easier to put my thoughts down on paper so that you may sit in private to read and digest their meaning._

"Stop beating around the bush," Rose muttered.

Jack's head whipped round. "What are you talking about?"

Rose glanced up from her Carpathia headed stationery. "I was speaking to myself. I'm finding it hard to get to the point."

They were sitting in the library, which was crowded but quiet. Survivors lay on makeshift bunks, others tried to read books. The majority were in the dining room, wolfing down their breakfast. Jack and Rose had fought for space to sit and eat and, being jostled from side to side, Jack had almost spilled a full cup of coffee down someone's back. Giving up on all plans for a leisurely meal and a chat, they had eaten quickly and left.

"It wouldn't be the first time you took forever to get to the point," Jack said impishly.

"Less of that, Mr. Dawson. We all heard you and Lovejoy's little discourse on icebergs the other day. How they're formed, why they float, where they come from, what's inside. Brig and I survived the sinking only to die of boredom."

"That, my dear Rose, was scientific discussion."

"And it went absolutely nowhere, with no conclusion. Try and submit that to a scientific journal. They'd laugh you out of town." Rose looked down at her paper as she wrote, even though Jack was trying his hardest to distract her.

"You're going to be a handful in life, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Jack tipped his chair against the wall and folded his arms behind his head. "Nothing a Dawson can't handle," he said, then looked at the door for the hundredth time. "Where _are_ they? Damn, we'll be in New York City by the time they get out of bed. I knew we shouldn't have left them in the cabin."

Rose pulled hair across her face to hide her smile. Jack was fidgety enough without any encouragement. "We'll get our turn, don't worry."

"I didn't mean that. I meant, Brig wants to come to steerage with me, she'd better hurry up or I'll go without her."

"That wasn't the deal," said Rose, agonizing over yet another sentence. "Musketeers, remember? All for one, et cetera." She cursed lightly. "Shit- I just wrote 'et cetera'." She screwed up the paper and dropped it on the floor with a sigh. "That was your fault. ' _Where's Brig, where's Brig_ '... we've got all day, remember?"

Jack laughed. "That pile is getting bigger and bigger."

Rose peeked at the balls of crumpled paper littering the floor. "One day they'll invent something that allows you to correct what you've written without having to start over. Until then, we just have to form words in our head before we write them down. Something I am not very good at, I'm afraid."

"Well, speaking for myself, I love a headstrong woman who acts first and thinks later. We wouldn't be together otherwise."

Rose looked up and a surge of love flooded through her. Jack was so attuned to her, so empathic, almost clairvoyant. He knew how to boost her self confidence even when she didn't know it needed boosting. His soul connected with hers on every level. Nevertheless, she longed for a bit of peace and quiet so that she could write this damned letter to her mother.

"God, it would be so much easier if I could just talk to her in person. She could be sitting above our heads right now, for all we know."

"I wish you could, too. I hate that we're all still at odds with each other, tiptoeing around the ship on eggshells. It's not right. It's... it's _disrespectful_ , is what it is."

"She'd only argue with me, talk over me, plead for me to change my mind. She's obsessed with status. I wish she weren't such a social leech. What's wrong with being a seamstress anyway? She can start her own business, build her own multi-million dollar empire. People will always need clothes. Ladies will always need corsets." Rose shuddered. "Horrid things. No one should have to imprison their own body. You don't see men squeezing their ample stomachs into corsets to attract the opposite sex."

"Rose, you never need to wear a corset again. I love your beautiful body just as it is. I wish I could love it right now, right here on the library floor."

Rose clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Jack Dawson! I'll never get this letter written with thoughts like that!"

Jack reached for her hand and gazed deeply into her eyes. "Just tell her you're madly in love with the handsomest boy in the world and she can go fly a damned kite."

They collapsed with giggles and were still laughing when Lovejoy and Brighid finally appeared at their table.

"Hard at work, I see," said Lovejoy, trying his hardest to cast an ominous shadow.

"You can talk, _Loverboy_ ," said Jack, almost horizontal across the table. Rose snorted more laughter through her hands, wiping her nose on her sleeve as tears streamed from her eyes.

Lovejoy studied the balls of paper on the floor. "I am sure these will make for fascinating reading."

" _Dear Mother, Up Yours, Love Rose_ ," said Jack, causing more hysteria.

Lovejoy rolled his eyes while Brighid attempted to gather the loose-limbed, laughing boy off the table and into an upright position.

"I am so sorry we're late," she said, trying not to laugh herself. "We grabbed a quick bite- the hordes had almost cleaned out the kitchen but we managed to filch a couple of bacon rolls. Spicer may be grumpy since he's a bottomless pit and one bacon roll isn't enough to satisfy him, so the sooner you and I get about our business the better."

Jack blinked back tears of laughter and cleared his throat with a manly "harrumph" while Brighid straightened his shirt collar and brushed dust off his shoulders. "There now. Ye look fit for Third Class. We don't like scruffs, as ye well know. Very proud people, we are."

"Wait," said Rose, suddenly nervous. "What about-" she looked up at Lovejoy. "What are you going to do?"

Lovejoy smiled down at her. "I am going to stay right here with you, miss. Won't that be lovely?"

"Great!" muttered Rose.

"Don't worry. My gun is safely stashed away. I could of course, use these failed novels as missiles." He prodded a crumpled ball with his foot.

Jack and Brighid reassured Rose and Lovejoy that they'd report back as soon as they were able. They wanted badly to find some familiar faces, people they'd set sail with on that fateful morning. Rose watched them go, understanding their bond as fellow Third Class passengers. They appeared so comfortable with each other, like a boy and his favourite aunt. She watched them until they disappeared from the library and then she turned a forlorn eye on Lovejoy, who was busy settling himself into the chair that Jack had vacated.

"Nice of him to keep it warm for me," he said with that grim expression she knew all too well. She didn't think she'd ever be able to tell whether he was kidding or not. If he told her the most obvious joke in the world she would still wonder if he was holding back the real punchline in favour of a fake one, inwardly revelling in the deception while she laughed.

"So," he continued. "How far have you got?"

"Not very far I'm afraid." Rose showed him her latest draft. He pursed his lips and studied the paper like a schoolmaster.

"Well? What do you think?"

Lovejoy adjusted the distance between his face and the paper. "I think I need reading glasses. As for what you've written, it's a good start. Clear and concise." He slipped the paper across the table towards her. "Do continue. I'll watch the door."

Rose bowed her head over the paper. With Jack gone, her head cleared somewhat. She loved him dearly but his sense of mischief was very distracting. Lovejoy was a much more sombre fgure sitting there staring at the door. He was unlikely to interrupt her unless there was an emergency. She began to write and soon the words flowed smoothly from her pen.

 _I understand your reasons for wanting me to marry into the Hockley family. We are accustomed to a certain standard of living and Father's death was a huge blow. I don't blame you for decisions made through grief. But I am a real person, mother. A flesh and blood creation with needs and wants of my own. I could not be happy in an arranged marriage; I have not the disposition to obey a husband I didn't choose for myself. There may have been passion on his part, but there was nothing upon which to build a healthy relationship. Caledon was also abusive. He struck me on more than one occasion. I am sorry if the truth hurts, but a stinging blow across the face hurts too. What kind of person does that to someone they love?_

 _Mother. Please read this carefully. I have met someone I love, and there is nothing but peace and kindness between us. The man I am in love with is beautiful inside and out. He makes the stars shine brightly. He makes me feel safe and secure. If only Caledon had been the same way perhaps I would not have felt so trapped and helpless. It's not your fault, Mother, that you chose an arrogant bully for a potential marriage partner. I know you were only looking ahead to a future where money would never be a worry again. But money is not important to me. I am a woman of the times, ready to make my own future, my own decisions and my own money. Mother, I intend to take this man's name and become part of his family. We will make our way in life and enjoy it all the more for its struggles._

 _In closing, I will always love you and be grateful to you for my life. You will always be welcome in my home, you will always have a sizeable piece of my heart. I long for the day we may see eye to eye. How much time we will have to catch up on! You will see the woman I've become. You will see me free from my chains and notice the change in me due to the support of the man who loves me completely. I will make a difference to the world, Mother, and you will see it, and that will be a happy day indeed._

 _Until then I remain,_

 _Your loving daughter,_

 _Rose._

Rose put down the pen and sat back with a sigh.

"Finished?" asked Lovejoy.

She nodded. "I think so."

"Care for a second opinion?"

She studied his face. He still looked every bit like the man who had stalked her through the halls and snitched on her to Cal. But there was a new softness to his gaze. No doubt Brighid was a part of that, but he seemed altogether less threatening. He wasn't quite smiling, but the upward tilt of one side of his mouth was better than nothing.

"Grammar and spelling, if nothing else," he prompted.

"Why not?" She shrugged, handing him the finished letter. "It's not as if I'd write anything crude to my own mother."

Lovejoy began reading. She watched his eyes flicker down the lines, sometimes reading the same sentence twice. She watched his mouth quirk and observed him nodding. He seemed to be in approval of everything she'd written. His eyebrows raised one or twice. Maybe he didn't know that Cal had beaten her. She wondered what he was thinking- perhaps he was gaining a better insight into her situation through the things she had written.

"It's fine," he said at last. "If someone wrote a letter like that to me, I should be very clear about the message they intended to convey."

"You don't think it'll hurt her feelings?"

He shrugged. "That's not your problem. You've stated the facts. As your paramour Jack might say, 'she can take it or leave it.'"

Rose frowned. "She's my mother, not some stranger. I do care about her feelings, believe it or not. Even if she doesn't care about mine."

Lovejoy watched her bite her lip. "I suggest you could do with some lessons in toughening up," he said, handing back the letter. "Never scapegoat yourself for anyone- including- and _especially_ your own family."

Rose smiled gratefully. Despite her enduring wariness, she was definitely beginning to like this tall, dour faced man. "Would you care to teach me 'The Art of Being a Complete Bastard', Mr. Lovejoy?"

Lovejoy folded his arms across his chest. "I should relish every moment of it, Miss Rose."

"Just keep in mind that I don't ever intend to shoot my own mother, no matter how cold and ruthless I become."

"You really would be Ruth-less if you shot your own mother." Lovejoy delighted in the groan he elicited from Rose with his pun.

Shaking her head, Rose checked the ink was thoroughly dry before folding the letter and inserting it into a crisp white envelope adorned with _RMS Carpathia_ above a small detailed drawing of the ship. She licked the flap in as ladylike a fashion as she could, then sealed the envelope and wrote her mother's name on the front.

 _For the Attention of:_

 _Mrs. Ruth DeWitt Bukater._

Just the sight of that rather grand name brought a lump to Rose's throat. It was not only her mother but the memory of her much loved father. That was the life she was leaving. She almost began to have second thoughts.

Lovejoy picked up on her mood. "It's hard, isn't it? Leaving it all behind. I've walked away from my job, my power and prestige and any chance of furthering my own interests with the Hockleys. I still wonder whether I'm doing the right thing."

"But you are, Lovejoy. You've met Brighid, I've met Jack. Love conquers all."

"At your age, maybe." Lovejoy kicked a ball of paper under the table. "I don't want to get into all that self-absorbed nonsense again. But trust me, not a minute goes by when I'm not weighing everything from all sides. We're in a bit of bubble now, you see. All this, the shipwreck, this moment of indecision, it will all come to an end soon. And then we'll have to face the rest of our lives."

"All I know is that I belong with Jack, and I'm pretty certain Brighid is your soulmate. Both Jack and I are amazed at the transformation in you, even if you can't see it yourself. You smile more, you joke more- don't roll your eyes- you're _even_ fun to be with. And I think you _should_ start up your own detective agency. Imagine it. Spicer Lovejoy, Special Agent, helping all those beautiful dames in distress." She winked naughtily, laughing as his jaw dropped.

"You do make it sound rather delightful. Except I'm sure Brighid would put a stop to any futher investigations in that direction."

"Nothing wrong with looking."

Lovejoy cracked a grin. "Spoken like a true modern woman."

"If you love someone, set them free."

"Hm. I'll reserve judgment on that one."

Rose laughed. "I never knew you were so easy to banter with. I wish we had become friends sooner. We could have played cards and gossiped while Cal was off doing whatever wealthy gentlemen do without their partners. Smoking fine cigars and plotting their next takeover, no doubt."

"I may as well tell you that he thought you and I were having an affair," said Lovejoy, unconsciously tugging at his tie. "I doubt he would have left us alone for more than one minute."

Rose was shocked at his straightforward comment. "I had my suspicions when Brighid seemed uncomfortable at his intrusion. Well, I never! He thought you and I- " she blushed deep red. "Goodness. What a thing. I'm even more glad not to be marrying him. It's a wonder he didn't think I was sharing my bed with Trudy."

"Yes. Poor Trudy. I suspect she didn't survive."

Silence fell over them again as they thought about Trudy. They hadn't come across her, but that didn't mean she was dead.

"There's always hope," he added, seeing the sadness on Rose's face.

oOoOoOo

Steerage was crowded and smelly. Haunted faces stared at Jack and Brighid as they navigated a labyrinth of passageways and gloomy, utilitarian rooms. Men, women and chldren grouped together in far from luxurious surroundings while snippets of many languages could be heard, ranging from English to Italian to Scandinavian and Polish and even one or two Chinese. The lack of joy and laughter was disheartening. It was as though Third Class had given up on all its hopes and dreams- the sinking of Titanic a final blow to any shred of dignity they might have had.

"I've not yet seen a soul that I recognise," said Brighid. "How about you?"

"Not yet," said Jack grimly. They peered around a bulkhead into a room full of uncomfortable looking bunks and thin mattresses covering the floor. One man glared at their clean clothes and washed faces.

"Go on, take a good look," he growled sullenly.

"I'm sorry," said Jack. "We're looking for friends who might have survived."

"Down here?"

"Yes," said Jack. "We were in Third Class on Titanic."

"And what are you now, with your perfume and finery?"

Jack bristled. "We're human beings! Just like you!"

Brighid stared at Jack as they hurried away from the room.

"Snobbery works both ways," said Jack. "That guy clearly thought he was better than me. I mean, do I look like I'm dressed for the Ritz?"

Next they encountered a group of women talking in a passageway. They were much friendlier. Some were survivors, the others were Carpathia passengers. None of them knew of Jack's or Brighid's friends, although they said one or two names sounded familiar. They might know someone who knew someone else who might be more helpful. All the Third Class survivors had lost so many of their loved ones. Everyone was looking for someone.

"Most of us are dead. Whole families obliterated. I am sorry we can't be of more help."

Four rumbustious children ran by, stirring up the air into clouds of foul smelling gases. Third Class reeked of urine and Jack fought hard to keep disgust from showing on his face. After all, it wasn't the passengers' fault that steerage facilities were kept at a bare minimum. It was probably the same on every ship. Luxury was there if you could afford it, but steerage passengers had no money, and therefore were not worth anything to the shipping companies.

Jack and Brighid thanked the women and went on their way.

"I wonder if Titanic will change anything in the way passengers are treated?" Jack wondered aloud.

"I hope so," replied Brighid. "It's inhuman, is what this is. Conditions on Titanic might not have been much better but at least people were happy they were sailing to a new life. Now they're just sitting in their own filth."

"I kinda feel guilty," said Jack. "This would have been me if I hadn't fallen for Rose."

"And me if I'd stayed with Michael and Rosemary. Every time I hear the name 'Rose' I think of my sister."

"Damn, that must be hard."

"It was at first. But Spicer has been a great help, believe it or not."

Jack smiled. "There's a name you'll never get mixed up with anyone else."

"No," she agreed. "But I think it suits him. I couldn't imagine him as a Thomas or Frederick, or even a Charles. You on the other hand, you're a Jack through and through."

Eventually they found a couple of men who had been at the party- the last time steerage had gathered together for a hoe-down before Titanic hit the iceberg. Greetings were muted, with none of the excitement of that night. Both of the men recognised Brighid, but neither of them had seen any of her female friends. They pulled off their caps and held them to their chests as Brighid's face registered her unhappiness.

"Everyone's gone," she said to Jack, tears prickling her eyes.

They made their way back to Second Class in thoughtful silence. When they arrived at the library they were greeted with the sight of Rose and Lovejoy laughing like old friends.

"What's so funny?" asked Jack, glaring from one to the other.

Lovejoy stood up to let Brighid sit down. "Rose told a rather off-colour joke."

" _Lovejoy_ told a rather off-colour joke," corrected Rose, then noticed that neither Jack nor Brighid were smiling. "Oh no. Don't tell me you've got bad news."

"Nobody survived," said Brighid, softly. "Not Mary, nor Nancy, nor Abigail... "

"Cora?" asked Rose, tentatively.

Jack shook his head wordlessly.

"Oh my God. How awful."

"It's horrible down there. It's like a graveyard of living people." Brighid accepted Lovejoy's handkerchief and wiped her swollen eyes.

Rose shuddered. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. Can't they bring them up here? Haven't they been through enough?"

"Can't mix the lowlife with the high and mighty," said Jack bitterly. "Can't have the Hockleys of this world catching diseases." He dragged two chairs over and flung one in Lovejoy's direction. He turned the other around, straddled the seat and rested his chin on his forearms across the headrest. "I'm sick of the inequality. We're going to change things, Rose. We're going to bring the world's attention to this bullshit." He banged the headrest with his fist. "How can they let little children die like that? They should have got the kids out, at least!" With the same hand he raked hair out of his eyes. "Look at us. Four grown adults. Think we have problems? We should just be damned thankful we made it out."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to find Lovejoy standing beside him. But there was no malice in the former valet's eyes. As the hand on his shoulder squeezed, Jack realised how much he needed the support and approval of an older man. A father figure. Lovejoy had sensed that and delivered.

Once Jack had calmed down, the hand on his shoulder withdrew and Lovejoy went back to his seat.

"I'm sorry Rose, I didn't mean to get upset. Did you finish your letter?"

Rose nodded. "Lovejoy took it to a steward. He'll make sure it gets to my mother."

"What'll ye do if your mother wants to meet with you?" asked Brighid.

"I don't know," Rose admitted. "I'm not even sure it's important anymore."

Lovejoy shifted in his seat. "Of course it's important. It's important that we all close this chapter before moving on with our lives. Nothing we can do or say will bring anyone back from the dead. And Miss Rose, don't you dare feel guilty for being a First Class passenger."

Rose stared at him. "My god. You _are_ psychic!"

"Not psychic," he grunted. "Just observant. I am sure he didn't mean to, but Jack almost invalidated everything the rest of us are going through by reducing tragedy to its purest form- the suffering of little children." He fixed Jack with a beady eye. "Learn to curb your outbursts. You unwittingly give yourself away."

Jack stared back in disbelief. "What's wrong with being angry at injustice? And what the hell's wrong with _you_?"

"Nothing. But your rhetoric implied that because children are dead, no one else has a right to feel anything but gratitude for being alive. Life is _not_ simple that way. Rose has a right to be worried about her mother and you must support her if you love her, whether you agree with her or not."

Jack felt unduly chastened and a little angry. Lovejoy might have been reassuring him, but perhaps the man was right. Perhaps he had unwittingly made Rose feel bad about her position in life. He just wished that Lovejoy hadn't scolded him so publicly. "All I meant was, greed shouldn't come before humanity," he said, casting his eyes downwards.

"Then that's what you should have said."

"Spicer doesn't mean to be harsh," said Brighid, laying her hand on Lovejoy's arm.

"Please don't speak for me," Lovejoy muttered. "I am well aware that I'm alive while children are dead, and so is Miss Rose. This should not be a point scoring contest based on what class we come from and how lucky we were to get out. I can't stand emotional outbursts. I find them irritating and manipulative."

"Look," said Jack, "I'm sorry. Being down there _was_ very emotional." He looked at Brighid for affirmation and she nodded silently. "I feel guilty too, Lovejoy. I feel guilty for abandoning Fabrizio and I can't bear to think of little Cora- of all those kids, how scared they must have been, and where they are now, still with looks of terror on their faces. Things have got to change, Lovejoy. That's all I meant. Surely when this is all made public, decent people will be outraged at the way Third Class passengers were treated. If I can do one good thing with my life, I'm going to make sure people know what happened. The press will cover up the injustice, but my illustrations will tell the whole truth. I may even write a book. 'Jack Dawson: A Survivor's Tale'."

"Good idea," said Lovejoy. "You can channel all your anger into that."

Jack lifted his chin defiantly. "All right, that's exactly what I'll do. You just watch me."

"I will," said Lovejoy. "And I shall very much look forward to reading it."

"Who knows," Jack continued, "you might even be in it. In fact, I'll give you a starring role- as the iceberg."

Brighid caught Rose's eye. "Oh Lord, here we go. The egos are igniting."

"In that case," said Rose, rising from her chair, "let's retire to the Ladies' Lounge and have a civilized talk over a cup of tea." She planted a kiss on Jack's head as she walked behind him. "You boys stay here and try not to knock each other senseless. Mr. Lovejoy's already earned himself quite a reputation."

The women linked arms and made their way to the exit, stopping only when Jack's voice called out loudly, "Don't worry girls, we've got plenty to read."

They turned to see Jack and Lovejoy piling the crumpled balls of paper onto the table.

"Might get some ideas for my book. Let's see." Jack picked at a paper ball with his fingernails, smoothing it out on the table. " _Dear Mother, I met this guy called Jack who is handsome and brave. If only I'd listen to him once in a while!_ "

"I did not say that," Rose argued.

Lovejoy uncrumpled another discarded draft. " _Dear Mother. Mr. Lovejoy is my friend now. He's going to teach me how to kill someone with my bare hands_."

Rose took a giant step to the table and swept as many of the balls into her arms as she could, with Brighid picking up the ones that fell onto the floor.

"I'm going to put them somewhere you'll never be able to read them," she said primly. "In the sea."

Lovejoy and Jack watched the girls leave the library, struggling to keep paper balls from spilling all over the place.

"Are you really going to teach Rose how to kill someone with her bare hands?" asked Jack.

"I don't think I need to," said Lovejoy. "She can kill with one look."

Jack shook his head. "Ain't that the truth, Mr. Lovejoy. Ain't that the truth."

Lovejoy smiled and extended his hand. "Truce?"

Jack clasped the older man's hand and shook it. "Truce," he said, gratefully.


	20. In My World

Carpathia was a day and a half from New York and clouds were gathering. Dark, bulbous bellies bulged with rain as they jostled like a herd of elephants in the sky. Jack looked up and shivered.

"Isn't it strange that Titanic sank on a calm, clear night when all we've encountered are storms? Perhaps God was trying to make it easier for us,"

"I doubt it," said Lovejoy, pouring scorn on any mention of heavenly deities. "Clouds like that settle over land. If anything, we should be grateful. It means we're approaching our destination."

The younger man glanced at the upper deck. "I hope you're right. I won't relax until I'm off this ship and far away from Hockley and Rose's mother."

"I shouldn't worry about them. As far as the captain is concerned, there's been no crime except for one of public disorder. And he is quite capable of handling that."

Jack shook his head balefully. "We're in a fine mess, Mr. Lovejoy. We're going to have to dispose of the you-know-what somehow."

"Careful," said Lovejoy, lowering his voice. "Spies are everywhere." He let a few seconds pass, then silently lifted his hand and tapped Jack on the opposite shoulder. Smiling, he watched Jack leap into the air and spin around as if a black masked avenger was standing behind him with a sword.

"Dammit, Lovejoy! What in the hell are you playing at?"

"I thought so. You're a coiled spring, my boy. You need to unwind."

Jack panted like a dog who'd been chasing rats all day. "You're going to have to stop being a royal pain-in-the-ass," he gasped, clutching at his heart.

"You brought it on yourself, mentioning... well, what you mentioned."

Jack went to the railing and grabbed it with both hands, leaning his head out over the water. Lovejoy followed at a polite distance, staying just close enough to put a stop to impulsive or foolish behaviour. Not that the boy would jump. That was Rose's party trick, not Jack's.

"Don't know what's worse. You being my enemy or you being my friend."

"Come now. Don't be so overly dramatic. Rose wants a man, not a gibbering ninny afraid of his own shadow."

"Really? You gonna toughen me up too? Teach me to kill a man with my bare hands? What makes you think I don't already know?"

"I didn't say anything about-" Lovejoy stopped mid-sentence. He looked towards the upper decks, panic darting across his features.

Jack went white. He jumped away from the railing, eyes darting, crouched as if to attack. "What? WHAT?"

"Nothing," said Lovejoy. "Just testing. And my suspicions are correct. You're running on empty, Dawson. You're on emergency reserves and even those are failing."

"Jesus, can you blame me? Every time Rose is out of my sight I fear the worst. You're not making things any better with stunts like that." Jack pleaded with his sapphire blue eyes. "Lovejoy, if anything happens to Rose my life won't be worth living. I know, I know I told her to hold on and keep going if anything happened to me, but she's stronger than me, Lovejoy." His voice faltered, as though the sound of his own words cemented everything he'd suspected since their very first encounter. "She's stronger than me. I'm scared I'll lose her as soon as we reach land."

Lovejoy straightened, bringing authority to himself with every added centimeter. "You're a besotted young man who thinks he loves a woman he's only just met. We all go through this phase, thinking we're the first to discover true love. But let me tell you, love flies in and out of our lives like _that_." he snapped his fingers loudly. "So you'd better not display any uncertainty in front of her. That's my advice, man to man. The minute a woman loses respect for her man, it's over."

Jack settled as the sun peeked out from behind a bank of clouds. "I think if you're going to lecture me that it's only fair you finally tell me some of _your_ experiences with love."

Lovejoy's face turned as dark as the gathering storm. "You don't want to hear about that particular trail of destruction."

"Well, if only so I know what to avoid doing."

"I treated the first girl who loved me like shit, and I didn't stop until- well, until I met Brighid. And that's only because Titanic gave me a wake up call. I wasn't interested in women, you see. I didn't care about their hearts and minds, their souls, their personalities. On the occasions that I wanted what their bodies could provide me with, I would get one, use her and move on. Yes, I know it sounds callous. I simply didn't _care_. If any of them got too close to me, and there _were_ a few who threatened to break down my barriers, I treated them terribly until they were forced to leave with their tails between their legs. Then, as I got older, I revelled in destroying the love that they had for other men. During the steel riots, when Nathan Hockley employed the services of Pinkerton, one of the workers came at me swinging a baseball bat." Lovejoy stopped to clear his throat, rubbing his hand over his mouth. "As I ducked, I shot him in the groin." He turned his back to the railing and leaned against it. "I didn't kill him, but no doubt I ruined his chances of ever having children."

"Jesus Christ," said Jack, lengthening the distance between them. "How could you ever have said I reminded you of you when you were younger? I'd never do a thing like that! Not ever!"

"I meant that you have the same stubborn tenacity. But yes, perhaps I was wrong. I shouldn't want anyone to be like me." Lovejoy looked down at his shoes. "Look at those. Beautiful craftsmanship. Exquisite stitching. Supremely comfortable and nice to look at. People see these and think, 'elegance and finery- he must be an important man'. But you and I both know what's inside them. Such as it is with me- I present a dignified exterior but inside there's just a dark shadow with soulless eyes."

"How much of this have you told Brighid?"

"None of it," said Lovejoy sharply. "And I'll ask you not to share it either."

"Don't you think she has a right to know how you treat women? Or are you going to let her find out for herself?"

"I won't be like that with her. I'm older now. The havoc I wreaked has tainted me and I hate it. I want to change. She- well, she seems to have come along at exactly the right moment. For the first time in my life, I've found someone I enjoy being with and talking to. Yes, there is the physical side of it too. She's a wonderful, warm, sensuous creature. But apart from that, I _like_ her. I like being around her. She confounds me and for some reason, I enjoy it. She makes me want to laugh."

"All those other women were people too."

"Not to me they weren't."

"And you never once stopped to consider what they were feeling?"

"No."

"Damn. For someone named Lovejoy, there sure wasn't much love _or_ joy in your life. As for shooting a man in the crotch- words fail me." Jack winced, adjusted his trousers, and wiped a tear from his eye. "You ever do that to me and I'll rip your face off."

"I'm afraid I relished power too much. Possibly I'm a little deranged. But all that is going to change. Brighid has her own power, and mine is powerless against hers."

"Now you sound like me. Guess our women really are the stronger ones."

"When a woman looks at a man, she sees a man," said Lovejoy. "But when a man looks at a woman, he sees himself." Noticing Jack's puzzled look, he went on. "I suppose what I mean is, a woman thinks of all the things she can do for her man, and the man thinks of all the things he can take from his woman. Meanwhile, he waxes lyrical about love as if he knows what it means."

"It's about sharing," said Jack. "Being there for each other." He squinted through a sunbeam at the older man. "I'm an artist, Lovejoy. I don't have any desire for power. Men like you are a dying breed."

"I'm afraid we aren't. You're an idealist, I'm a pragmatist. Money makes the world go round." Lovejoy held up a hand at Jack's protest. "I'm sorry, but it does. Unless you want to live in a mud hut all your life, you are going to need money, and you are going to need a certain amount of influence."

"And yet you're willing to give up those things for love?"

Lovejoy raised his face to a cool, salty breeze. "I wish you hadn't asked me that. I know it's not going to be easy. And I wonder if we will still get along once this is all over." They listened to waves lapping at the hull of Carpathia as the heroic little ship cut through the water. "Starting a business together is sounding more and more likely," he continued. "We'd _have_ to stay together, then."

A gust of wind tugged Jack's hair away from his face. "You and Rose seem to be getting along famously. Have you spoken to her about your fears?"

"Not to this extent. But she does think going into some sort of partnership with Brighid is a good idea." Lovejoy chuckled. "I rather like the thought of being my own boss, although I'm not a young man anymore."

Jack shook his head. "I don't understand you, Lovejoy. Women are the most beautiful of all God's creations. What made you _be_ that way? Drink? Opium?"

Lovejoy narrowed his eyes in an affronted manner. "Nothing of the sort. I suppose I despised their weakness. A man wants to get on with his life- not have to deal with some doe eyed limpet clinging to his arm." He shuddered. "They lose what little minds they have. And the worse you treat them, the clingier they get. Then you make them cry, and then you want to see how far you can go. You want to break them into little pieces and grind them into the dust."

"Normal guys don't want to do that." Jack looked at Lovejoy as though the older man had become a stranger again. "You're not normal though. Are you, Lovejoy?"

"Nobody's normal," said Lovejoy. "Everyone's broken to some degree. If it's unconditional love you want, then buy a dog."

"Or... you know, treat a woman right. Didn't any of them ever tell you to stick your attitude where the sun don't shine?"

"Oh, yes. I've been called all the names you can think of. I've been kicked and punched and had my hair ripped out and even my clothes set on fire."

"You didn't hit them back, did you?"

Lovejoy said nothing.

"Jesus. You did! You hit women!"

Lovejoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't hit them. All right, I might have slapped one or two when I was an angry young man." He breathed out heavily. "I read something in Rose's letter. About Cal Hockley. It wasn't very nice. It made me think about things I've done, especially with Rose sitting there right in front of me like a harmless kitten."

"What? You read Rose's letter?" Jack was shocked to the core.

"Shit," muttered Lovejoy, realising he'd just put his foot in it. "I offered to check her spelling and what have you."

"No, you just wanted to read what she wrote! Dammit, Lovejoy. She didn't let me read it! Why you?"

"Because you were in steerage and she wanted to get it sent off as quickly as possible before she changed her mind."

"I can't believe this! Of all the people- _I_ should have been the one she trusted." Jack began to pace the deck in front of Lovejoy, raking fingers through his hair. "Are you saying Hockley beat her?"

"It appears he slapped her when she got out of hand."

"When she got out of hand? You mean when she stood up for herself! Holy shit, Lovejoy. You and Hockley. What a pair of bastards. Did you take turns beating her up?"

"Don't be bloody stupid."

"But you didn't stop Cal though, did you?"

"In all honesty I didn't know he was doing it. That's why the contents of the letter surprised me. Look, stop pacing. You'll wear a hole in the deck and I won't survive another sinking."

"Good. Then I'll pace faster." Jack fixed Lovejoy with a beady eye as he increased his speed, digging his heels into the deck. "What else did she say?"

"She said she'd met the man of her dreams and wanted to be with him forever."

"Is that it?"

"In a nutshell. Look- she mentioned the bit about Cal so that her mother would better understand why she was leaving. She said wonderful things about you. She really does think the world of you, Dawson. You're a good match."

"I'm not sure the Lovejoy seal of approval means anything after what I just heard."

"You're right. It probably doesn't."

Jack stopped pacing. The sky trembled with a roll of distant thunder and a single raindrop landed on his cheek. "You'd better treat Brighid right or there'll be trouble," he muttered.

"I fully intend to. I am not going back to my old ways- I don't want to spend the rest of my life as a frustrated and bitter old man."

"It's not all about you, you have to think of her, too."

"Yes, I know. That's the bit I'm afraid of."

"She's a strong woman, Lovejoy- and proud. She won't allow you to treat her badly."

"I already said I'm not going to."

More raindrops began to patter onto the deck. The sky was a sheet of steel above them, obliterating the sun. "We'd better go inside," said Lovejoy, grateful for the break in conversation.

On the way in, they encountered a flustered crewmember who told them the wireless room was going crazy and that journalists were trying to pay for scoops.

"It's going to be a nightmare when we dock," he said, shaking his head.

"And now we have another storm on the way," said Lovejoy in a conversational tone.

"I'd rather weather a hundred storms than the baying wolfpacks waiting for us in New York."

"Spoken like a true seaman," Lovejoy replied, patting the man on the shoulder as he went on his way.

All public rooms on Carpathia had been transformed into sanctuaries for the survivors, meaning that the men's and women's lounges were no longer gender specific. Men and women sat together in both. Children darted in and out, defying their parents' pleas for quiet. Lovejoy caught a small boy just before he barrelled into their legs. The boy giggled and squirmed. Lovejoy turned him around and gently pushed him towards his mother, who shrugged an apology. He and Jack entered the lounge, searching the huddled groups for signs of Rose and Brighid.

"Oh, shit," said Lovejoy suddenly.

Jack laughed. "You're not catching me out again."

"No, seriously." Lovejoy moved closer to Jack and indicated with a tilt of his head. "Look. Over there."

Jack glanced at him suspiciously, then followed his gaze across the room. For the second time that day, his face went white. "Oh shit," he repeated, echoing Lovejoy's sentiment.

"There's no missing that huge hat," said Lovejoy.

Rose and Brighid were sitting in a corner, deep in conversation with Ruth DeWitt Bukater.

Jack grabbed Lovejoy's sleeve. "What should we do?"

"Give them their time. Come on, we'll sit down over here, out of sight. I don't think there'll be a scene like there was with Hockley, nevertheless we'll keep our ears open for any signs of distress."

Jack followed Lovejoy and reluctantly sat down next to the former valet. "How come every time Rose needs help, someone else is there instead of me?"

"Because you cannot stick to her like glue every second of the day. And what would you have to say to Mrs. Bukater anyway? 'She's mine now, so piss off'?"

Jack shrugged. "Maybe not in such a rude manner, but- yeah. 'Butt out, Mrs. Bukater, Rose and I are betrothed'."

"Hmm. Nice and romantic. I am sure she'd understand."

Jack fixed his gaze on Rose and her mother. He noticed Brighid interrupting every so often, her sharp features animated and mobile. Ruth's huge hat bobbed up and down as she waved Rose's letter. Rose wore an expression of stoicism, shaking her head 'no', enforcing every point made. Jack was proud of the way she was handling the encounter. As much as he wanted to run across the room and stand between the two, Rose and her mother were not shouting or arguing. They looked for all the world as though they were trying to comprehend one another and come to terms with their differences.

"I really want them to make up with each other," he whispered to Lovejoy. "I just want Rose to be happy."

"Things are looking good so far," Lovejoy whispered back.

"What would you do? Stand your ground and risk losing your daughter?"

"If I had a daughter," said Lovejoy, ""I'd fight tooth and nail for her."

Jack glanced sideways. "A daughter would have taught you how to treat women better."

Lovejoy kept his eyes forward. "I'm well aware of that, Mr. Dawson."

Jack smiled. "You and Brighid need to have kids. It'd be the making of you, Lovejoy."

"At my age?"

"You're not ancient!"

"I'm the wrong side of fifty."

"No harm in trying."

Lovejoy smiled. "We've already had some practice. Very nice it was, too."

"Don't come knockin' when the cabin's rockin'," said Jack, craning his head past a group of passengers who sat down smack in the middle of his line of view.

"To put it crudely," agreed Lovejoy, smiling at private memories.

"What are they doing now? I can't see."

"Still talking. Look, do calm down. It won't help if you go haring across the ship like a knight in shining armor when Rose does not need rescuing."

"I can't help it. I feel like jumping up and waving."

"If you do that I shall pull your chair away. Now sit still. Nothing's happening."

"Switch seats," Jack ordered, already on his feet. "I can't see past those people." He manhandled the grumpy former valet out of his chair and sat down. "That's better."

From his new vantage point, Jack scrutinised as much of Rose's expression as he could see. She didn't look angry; rather she looked a little tired, as though she'd had to say the same things over and over. Ruth's hat was still bobbing, Brighid was sitting quietly, hands folded in her lap. "Come on, Rose, keep fighting," he murmured. "Your happiness is more important."

Ruth waved the letter again, then folded it neatly and put it in her purse.

"At least she didn't screw it up and throw it at her," Jack mused.

Rose stood and helped her mother out of her seat. Then, to Jack and Lovejoy's amazement, the two of them hugged. Ruth's huge hat wobbled dangerously, her face obscured from view. The reason became apparent when the older woman turned away- she was crying. And so was Rose.

Ruth dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. She leaned forward and kissed Rose gently on the cheek and thumbed a tear from her daughter's face. Rose smiled gratefully, her reddened lips parted and shining. She pulled her mother into her arms and hugged her again.

"Don't let them see us," said Jack, ducking down.

Ruth and Rose headed for the door together, leaving Brighid sitting by herself. With practised stealth, Lovejoy ushered Jack around the perimiter of the room, hiding behind other passengers until the coast was clear. Ruth and Rose had their backs turned and Brighid was about twenty feet away. She jumped like a startled cat when Lovejoy slid his tall frame into Rose's empty chair beside her.

"Landsakes, Spicer, what the hell are ye playin' at? And you," she added as Jack took possession of Ruth's empty chair.

"It's raining outside so we came indoors," said Jack.

"We were over there for the most part," said Lovejoy, pointing across the lounge. "Trying unsuccessfully to eavesdrop."

Jack was eager for news. "So what happened, Brig? Did they make up? Is everything all right?"

Brighid smiled sweetly, fanning the shock from her face and neck. "What are ye, secret agents already? Everything's fine, my darling. It was touch and go at first. There we were enjoying our tea when this galleon of a woman comes sailing in, looking for her daughter. Waving her letter like a flag. "What's the meaning of this?" Poor Rose, she went white as a sheet. But a cup of tea soon calmed her mother down. Well, several cups of tea in all. She wasn't best pleased as you can imagine. Thinkin' her daughter's lost her marbles. But don't you worry, we set her straight. There's more to life than climbing the social ladder, we said."

"Not to Mrs. Bukater, there isn't," said Lovejoy.

"Either way, she didn't make a scene, not like your man Hockley. Everything was very civilized. We girls know how to handle things."

"So, are they friends again, or what?" asked Jack. "Are we going to be seeing more of Mrs. Bukater on our travels?"

"We may well do so, if she actually listens to Rose for once. Rose has left the door open for her, as they say. So if she wants to stay in touch she can."

"Jeez, I wish I'd been here when Ruth showed up."

"It's best that you weren't. Trust me, Jack. I would have broken up any fight."

Jack stared glumly at the empty tea cups on the table. "That's my job, though."

"Ye can't be everywhere at once."

"That's exactly what I told him," said Lovejoy.

Jack looked from Lovejoy to Brighid. "So, _this_ one gets to read the letter, and you get to hear the conversation. When am I going to get _my_ turn?"

"After you're married, I expect," said Brighid, her eyes twinkling. "When the mother-in-law swans into town with her entourage and twelve tons of luggage."

"Oh dear God," said Jack woefully. "I think I preferred it when they were enemies. Guess we won't be making such a clean break after all."

Rose reappeared shortly after. She was surprised to see Lovejoy and Jack at the table, keeping Brighid company.

"When did you two arrive?"

"Why, we were here all along," said Lovejoy, innocently.

"These two lads gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me the way they did. And then they gave me the third degree about your mam."

Rose stared at Jack. "You saw my mother?"

Jack nodded. He got up and offered Rose his seat, then dragged an empty chair over for himself. "Spicer here was the only thing stopping me, or I'd have been right here defending your honor and- and whatever else you needed me to do!"

"I must admit I was startled when she showed up. I should have left the delivery of the letter until we were disembarking."

Jack couldn't hold it in any longer. "Rose- why did you let Lovejoy read the letter?"

Rose blinked. Lovejoy caught her eye and gave her a dejected look. "He offered a second opinion," she said. "I would not have let him see it if I'd written anything private."

"You mean like Hockley slapping you around?"

Rose glared at Lovejoy, who covered his face with one hand, leaving just his eyes showing. "Perhaps I should have asked the captain to read it out through a megaphone so that _everyone_ could hear!"

"Calm down," said Jack. "I only want to know what your mother said, about that and everything else."

"She said she was relieved and happy I was alive, but disappointed in my decision. Molly Brown survived too. It would appear she's been talking some sense into mother, putting to rest some of her fears about being made destitute. I have to say, the conversation went a lot better than I expected. And they do serve lovely tea."

"A cup of tea would go down very well right now," said Lovejoy, removing his hand from his face and looking around.

"Rose," said Jack, leaning towards her with a pleading look. "I'd really like to be alone with you for a while."

Rose smiled gently. "I was thinking about you the whole time. I'll tell you all about it when we're together."

Lovejoy and Brighid watched the young lovers rise from their chairs and embrace tightly. "Go and find somewhere nice to ride out the storm," said Lovejoy.

"We'll be in the cabin," said Jack. "Don't disturb us for at least three hours."

" _Three_?!"

"Make it five." Jack winked at Lovejoy while the girls shook their heads at each other.

"That'll be forty minutes of fun and games and the rest of it spent snoring," said Brighid, howling with laughter when Lovejoy glowered at her. "Come on my love, let's get some more tea ordered. We've five hours to set the world to rights while the children play indoors."

Lovejoy felt more chips of stone fall away from that thing they kept calling his heart. It wouldn't be long before the organ was fully exposed, pink and raw and glistening, throbbing pitifully like a naked mole rat. But there was nothing he could do to stop it- forces were at work that were more powerful than any of them. Jack and Rose were caught up in it, and he and Brighid were on the brink of that same abyss. He remembered clinging to the stern of Titanic with clawlike, frozen fingers- but the feeling he had right now was far more frightening. At least on Titanic he knew he was going to hit the sea and live or die. But this- this thing called love was a deep, dark canyon where you died and were reborn a thousand times. He'd scorned it all these years- so why did he want it now?

The answer was right there in front of him in the shape of a thin, dark haired woman whom he would not otherwise have looked twice at. Her teasing, secretive glances, her refusal to indulge his dark side unless she wanted to. Her bravery. Having lost the love of her life to her own sister, she now mourned that sister with love that the woman, in Lovejoy's eyes, probably didn't deserve. And the boy that should have been hers. Lovejoy understood that he knew nothing of this emotion at all, because it required emotional strength and self-sacrifice. He had never focused on anyone but himself- and now he could think of no one but her.

Without realising it, he was grinning at her like a lovestruck lunatic.

"Now, what's gotten into you, my special secret agent?" Brighid asked, as a fresh pot of tea came to their table, carried on a tray by a smiling steward.

Lovejoy nodded at the steward and began to set cups onto saucers like the valet he used to be. "Perhaps one day I'll tell you."


	21. You and Me

Carpathia lurched over a wave just as Lovejoy lifted his cup to take his first sip of tea. The liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup and onto his trouser leg. "Bloody hell," he muttered, setting the cup on the table and brushing furiously at the damp patch. "I can't seem to catch a break."

Brighid grabbed a napkin and began to scrub at the sodden fabric covering Lovejoy's thigh.

Lovejoy felt his eyes glaze over. "Darling, do be careful."

Brighi smiled as she worked. "Can't have people thinking you had a 'little accident'."

"I did have a bloody accident. Look, it'll dry by itself." Lovejoy pulled her hand away from his leg, clasped his fingers around it. "Please, Brig. You're getting me all worked up."

Brighid saw the look in his eyes and blushed deep red. Then she chuckled throatliy, not helping him at all. "What a pity the cabin's occupied," she said with a wink.

With a look of despair, Lovejoy tried to ignore the blatant come-on and returned his attention to the tea. He managed to take a hefty swallow of the delicious nectar before Carpathia hit another wave. The occupants of the lounge lurched sideways and the hum of conversation stuttered and grew louder, more frantic.

Once more, crewmembers arrived to assure everyone there was no danger. They were encountering another squall. A pilot ship was being sent out to escort them to New York and it wouldn't be long before they docked. _She's been weathering storms since 1903,_ they said proudly of their stoic little ship. _And no doubt she'll be weathering them for many years to come._

Brighid pulled her chair closer to Lovejoy's and held his hand under their little corner table. "Hear that, my love? They're sending out a ship. We must be nearly there."

"I'd say sometime tomorrow," Lovejoy replied, enjoying the warmth seeping up his arm.

She turned to him and gazed into his eyes. "What's the first thing you're going to do when we land?"

"Kiss the ground," he said promptly. "Lie spreadeagled on it and defy anyone to unglue me. I am never setting foot on another floating vessel as long as I live."

She smiled sympathetically. "Not even a rowboat on a nice, calm lake?"

"Not even that."

"Well, there go all my romantic holiday dreams. You and me, drifting along under a warm, summer sun... no one else around... "

He grunted. "All right. We'll see."

She laughed softly, resting her head on his shoulder. "Everything we've been through feels like a dream. A strange, nightmarish, unreal thing, preventing me from waking up."

"I assure you it's very real. The unsinkable Titanic did just that."

She put her other hand on top of their clasped hands. "And we met. I'm glad that part is real."

"Yes. So am I."

She nestled her cheek more comfortably against the fabric of his jacket and Lovejoy listeed to her quietly singing. " _A ship there is and she sails the sea. She's loaded deep as deep can be, But not so deep as the love I'm in. I know not if I sink or swim_."

He heard the sentiment. He heard the word love. He connected the word to her feelings as she sang. It was a new experience for him- connecting a feeling to someone else. The magnitude of that word, coming from her and applied to him, was somewhat overwhelming. He reached for his tea and pretended to drink it casually while her lilting voice took over every single machination of his weary body. She was controlling his arm, she sent the tea into his mouth and down his throat. She was responsible for keeping it down even though he felt like spewing it out across the table. He wasn't sure love was supposed to make you vomit so he put it down to the increasing up, down and sideways motion of Carpathia. He picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth, and then his brow. The back of his neck was prickling again.

" _Give me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my love and I_."

Carpathia tilted again, rattling teacups and pressing Brighid and Lovejoy together. "Imagine what this must be doing for Rose and Jack," Brighid said innocently.

Lovejoy disengaged his fingers from hers and slipped his arm discreetly around her waist. "Calm down, woman."

"Calm down with your arm around me? I shall be perched on your lap in a minute!"

"I'd expect nothing less from a strumpet like you."

Lovejoy's face was so straight Brighid had to poke him in the ribs to get a reaction. He smiled villainously. She nestled into his side.

"Have faith that things will work out, Spicer. With the grace of God, we shall be all right."

Lovejoy sighed. "Not God again. Where was He the other night?"

"God didn't put the iceberg in front of us, in case that's what you were thinking."

"Brighid, I don't think of God at all. You and Jack both have more sense than to believe in a man who lives in the clouds. I think that's where your heads must be, most of the time."

"Don't insult my faith. Besides, God gave us free will. He wasn't steering the ship. You have to realise, Spicer. In the beginning, God gave us everything we needed. But it wasn't enough for us. We went our own way. We started doing things it was only God's place to do. Now He's letting us learn from our mistakes."

"And pay a hefty price, too," Lovejoy muttered. "Fancy sitting up there in Heaven watching children drown."

"No, Spicer. He gathered those poor children up and took them to a better place."

"Poppycock." Lovejoy remembered Brighid's nephew. He shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I am sorry. I'm a cynical old wretch. I didn't mean to insult the memory of your Michael. I just don't understand blind faith in something that hasn't been proved to exist."

"I guarantee you my love, one day something will happen to make you believe."

He kissed the top of her head, silently wondering if it hadn't already happened.

They settled into an easy silence. Carpathia bucked and rolled, causing some seasickness among the passengers. Lovejoy closed his eyes to quell the bubbling in his stomach. He knew it wasn''t all because of the storm. Brighid was warm against him. He was relutant to let go of her, despite the callous image he'd presented to Jack.

"Do you think things will change very much once we're ashore?" he asked, tentatively.

"Do you mean, between us?"

He nodded.

"I've been wondering too," she confessed. "And so has Rose."

"So has Jack. He's afraid he'll lose her."

"I'm afraid I'll lose _you_ ," she said, softly. "I'm well aware we wouldn't be together had the Titanic not gone down. We're so different, you and me. I'm the sort you and your master Hockley would have swept into the gutter as you passed."

"And you're the sort who'd steal my wallet as I went."

"Anything to get my dirty hand into your pocket."

Lovejoy chuckled. "If there's one thing keeping us together, it's _that_."

"Ah, but _that's_ not everything."

"So I've been told. Well, I suppose I'll learn the rest of it as we go along."

She smiled. There was a depth in her gaze that touched his soul, and not for the first time. "Be honest with me, Spicer. Do you see a future for us?"

The ship rocked again. Cups fell out of saucers, Lovejoy caught one as it rolled off the table. "This is getting ridiculous," he muttered.

"Please answer me, Spicer."

Her voice was warm and soft, not pushy or demanding. Lovejoy turned the cup onto its saucer and sighed. There was no getting out of this. She expected, and deserved, the security his answer would give her.

"Yes," he said, straightening the teaspoon. "I see a future for us."

Brighid released the tension he wasn't even aware she'd been holding. She relaxed against him and hugged his arm as though he were the last life preserver from the Titanic.

"You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that," she confessed. Then, after looking at his face, she became concerned. "Oh heck, Spicer, ye look a little pale. You're not going to be sick, are ye?"

Closing his eyes, Lovejoy shook his head wordlessly. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow, pushing back a damp strand of hair. "Sudden turn for the worse," he mumbled.

Brighid looked around for a crewman. Typically, there were none to be seen. She tried pulling Lovejoy to his feet. "We'll go up on deck. You need to get your bearings."

Lovejoy followed her on legs that felt like jelly. He didn't know what had come over him. Was it the storm? Was he seasick? Or was it the fact that he'd pretty much committed himself to this woman without meaning to? He, Spicer Lovejoy, the man with no emotions, no empathy, no sympathy, had just thrown away his autonomy like a carefree child without regard for the consequences. Who was this stranger dwelling inside him now?

They found a crewman in the passageway who helped Brighid usher Lovejoy to a deckchair under cover of the wheelhouse. There they could stay out of the wind and rain whilst taking the fresh, cool air and watching the undulating horizon. "At least now you know which way is up," the man said with an understanding smile. "You get settled and I'll fetch you some liver salts. There's a lot of sickness going around- if I could apologise for the weather, I would."

With the sting of ocean spray on his face, Lovejoy immediately felt better. He and Brighid wrapped blankets around themselves and huddled together to ride out the storm.

"I'm so sorry to drag you out here," he said. "I don't know what came over me. I must be getting old."

"I think I pushed you a little too far."

He stared at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well. I pressed for an answer you weren't ready to give. I'm the one who should be apologizing."

Lovejoy wrapped his arms around her under the blankets, allowing her to rest her head next to his. "No, no. Don't be silly. You haven't done anything wrong." His lips moved against her hair as he spoke.

"I was thinking too far ahead. After what we just went through, I ought to know better."

"Nobody could have predicted Titanic. Great tragedies like that are not the norm. We can still plan for the future. In fact, it's common sense, really. I don't blame you in the slightest for wanting to know if I'll stay with you. And the answer is yes. Yes, I will stay with you. Of course I will."

Her hand snaked out of the blanket and stroked his cheek. "I'll never put you under any pressure. I can look after myself, you know that." She lifted her head to smile at him. "I like having you around, that's all."

Lovejoy smiled back. "It doesn't need to be any more complicated than that, does it?"

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his, sending all kinds of tingles coursing through his body. "No, my love. It doesn't."

Carpathia bumped into a large wave and another curtain of spray whooshed past. But Lovejoy, lost in the warmth of Brighid's lips and the love she clearly felt for him, didn't notice.

oOoOoOo

Rose gave one, last strangled gasp of joy and then Jack rolled off her to lay panting by her side. The motion of Carpathia had assisted them in an intense bout of lovemaking that took their breath away with every rise and fall, plunging into troughs between waves while the young lovers twined around each other, slippery with sweat. Completely lost in the moment, they had soared to great heights together, two albatross paired for life, gliding through the sky, unburdened by grief or doubt.

"I love you, Rose Dawson," gasped Jack, in between ragged puffs.

"I love you too, Jack Dawson."

Unlike Lovejoy, neither of them felt any shame or embarrassment in declaring their love for one another. Their love belonged to _them_ \- they owned it, they nurtured it, and they defied anyone to take it away. Theirs was the fierce, defensive love of youth. The kind of love no-one else understood. For who but Jack had loved every precious contour of Rose's body, and who but Rose had gazed into the very core of Jack's soul? They were twin flames. Soulmates. It must have been destiny, because it had come at a hefty price. Just like all the great lovers throughout history, others had suffered and died so that they could be together.

"Do you feel bad that we made love on both Titanic _and_ her rescue ship?" asked Jack, turning his head on the pillow.

"I should do, but I don't. I think we've done a beautiful thing."

Jack chuckled. He reached up with one hand and played with long, curling ropes of vibrant red hair. "I hope I get to make love with you for the rest of my life."

Rose's green eyes melted into his heart. "You will."

Reassured, Jack returned his gaze to the ceiling, basking in the buzzing warmth of afterglow. "It's horrible to say it, but I've never felt so alive as I do now."

"Me too," said Rose, nuzzling her cheek against his hand.

"I mean, if Fabrizio had lived and I had died, I'd be happy for him and Helga."

"Jack," said Rose, softly. "Don't beat yourself up."

"I'm not. OK, I'm _trying_ not to." Jack hoisted himself onto his elbow and looked down at her face. God, how he loved her. "You're the most important person in the world to me, Rose Dawson. Don't let me lose you, too."

Rose drifted a fingertip across his kiss-bruised lips. "You won't lose me, and I won't lose you. Think of all the adventures we're going to have. Flying, horse riding, the world will be our oyster. We'll honor our friends, Jack. Everywhere we go, everything we do, we'll do it in honor of them."

With the happiest, brightest smile that Rose had ever seen, Jack scooped her into his arms and kissed her passionately.

"Where to miss?" he breathed into her neck.

"To the stars," she replied, pulling him on top of her. "To the stars!"


	22. Job Well Done

_April 18th, 1912_

At first it looked like just another bank of clouds. As the day wore on, the unmistakeable shape of the New York City skyline began to take form. There was a fervour among the passengers, a hum of excitement that grew exponentially as Carpathia, escorted by a pilot boat, steamed her way towards land. People gathered at the guardrails to peer into the distance, willing the ship to go faster. The sky was still fractured and torn with rainclouds, the wind still brisk, chopping up the waves and throwing brine into pale, expectant faces. A last taste of the powers of nature, lest they forget how small they were.

Quite unexpectedly, Ruth had come down to second class to meet her daughter again. She brought with her the unsinkable Molly Brown, who hugged Rose and Jack until their pips squeaked. After a bout of stern eye contact with Lovejoy, she hugged Brighid, whom she was meeting for the first time, and then gave Lovejoy a quick embrace and a light punch on the chest, as though chastising him for his past life but accepting that he had now changed. She did not believe that anyone in their right mind would still hold a grudge after what they had been through.

"Think of the dead," she said simply. "That's all you have to do."

Brighid and Jack were the ones who'd borne the most loss, and instinctively they reached out and held hands. Brighid had no immediate family left, and Jack had lost all of his shipboard friends, including little Cora. Tears began to fall, and Molly, with her huge heart, fit them both into a calming, loving embrace.

Rose looked at Lovejoy with shame. "You and I don't know how lucky we are."

Lovejoy leaned heavily on his cane and looked down at the deck. "I know."

Ruth went to Rose and nervously reached out to her. As a general rule, First Class people didn't hug. Showing feelings was vulgar. But Rose stepped forward. And though the hug was rather clumsy and formal, Rose heard her mother say, "I love you."

Rose drew back a little. "Have you... " she began, hesitantly, "have you spoken to Cal?"

Ruth nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid he's sticking to his guns."

Rose's eyes flitted nervously across Ruth's face. "Meaning?"

"Meaning, he's angry at losing the diamond and his fiancee and feels he's let down the Hockley name. His father will be furious."

"If Cal had any sense he'd get out of that family too."

Ruth sighed. "Oh, Rose. You always did have easy solutions to impossible situations."

Lovejoy cleared his throat. "I wonder. Might I still be able to talk some sense into him?"

Molly Brown chuckled wryly. "After nearly throwing him overboard? I'm afraid your name is mud, Mr. Lovejoy."

Lovejoy straightened, pulling back his shoulders. "It doesn't hurt to ask. I'd like to make myself useful, if at all possible. Don't forget he tried to shoot me, and would have succeeded if my gun had been loaded. Which reminds me... I need to retrieve Emily from the Master at Arms' office."

Molly blinked. "Emily? Who in tarnation is Emily?"

Brighid's cheeks went pink. "Emily is his gun."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Now I've heard everything."

Lovejoy smiled. "We all have our quirks."

Rose looked thoughtful. "I feel bad for Cal, in a way."

"You could come with me," Lovejoy suggested.

"Hell no," said Jack firmly. "If anyone goes with her, it'll be me."

"And if anyone goes with you," said Brighid to Lovejoy, "it'll be me."

Molly looked at each of the group in turn. "Heck, let's all go mob handed!"

"Or we could ask Cal to come down to this deck and we will all talk civilly to each other," said Rose. "All right. I know how silly it sounds. Forget I even mentioned it."

There was no need to however, because Caledon Hockley had followed Molly and Ruth and was standing at the end of the deck, just outside the hatchway. Passengers milled around him as they came and went into the bowels of the ship. He swept his hair back with one hand and studied the group in front of him. Ruth DeWitt Bukater in her huge hat. Molly Brown in an even bigger one. Mr. Lovejoy plus scraggly girlfriend, and his former fiancee Rose DeWitt Bukater, who _should_ have been Rose Hockley; and finally the focus of his rage, the blond lout from steerage who'd started this whole mess. Jack Dawson.

" _I'd rather be his whore than your wife_ " were words that Caledon Hockley would never, ever forget.

"You don't mind if I interrupt your little party?" he asked smoothly, approaching them along the deck.

Lovejoy and Jack instinctively stepped in front of the women. Cal tipped his head and laughed.

"At ease, gentlemen. I'm hardly a threat. Your macho display isn't needed." With dark eyes fixed on Rose, he moved forward, step by step, almost as though gliding. "Rose, sweetpea. Won't you reconsider?"

Ruth looked nervously at her daughter. "Darling," she said quietly. "A world of wealth awaits you. You'll be looked after for life, never needing to worry again."

Rose's expression turned grim. "Mother. Did you bring him down here?"

Ruth shook her head, a tiny birdlike movement. It spoke volumes.

"You did!"

"No, darling, I did not. I simply said I was coming to find you since we'll be landing soon and I didn't want to leave you without saying goodbye. But since he's here, do have a think about it. Think about what you're leaving behind. He loves you, Rose. He really does love you." Her tone became pleading as Cal advanced closer, as though trying to get it all out without him hearing. "You can learn to love him, Rose. We women have been doing it for centuries."

Rose looked aghast at her mother. " _Learn_ to love him? I think not, mother! He assaulted me! He hurt me! Physically, not just emotionally! I won't stand for it!"

"And you shouldn't have to," said Jack, placing himself firmly between Rose, Cal and Ruth. "Mrs. Bukater. I'm not a child, and I'm not a 'gutter rat'. I am a man with family in America and I am more than capable of taking care of Rose. I love her." Jack thumped his heart with his fist. " _I love her_. And I will never lay a finger on a single hair of her head as long as she lives. Ask yourself what you'd prefer for your daughter, Mrs. Bukater. A lifetime of love and gentleness, or a lifetime of wealth and unhappiness, watching Rose disguise black eyes with makeup and holding in the pain from her bruises?"

Ruth's gaze skittered away.

Jack interpreted the look correctly. "Is wealth that important to you?"

"It's our whole way of life, Mr. Dawson," said Ruth, placing emphasis on the word 'Mister'. "You wouldn't understand."

Lovejoy stepped forward. "Mr. Dawson understands perfectly."

"I'm sorry," said Cal, shaking his head to feign puzzlement. "Who are you? You _look_ familiar but I can't say I know who you are."

"Told you so," said Molly Brown, looking at Lovejoy with sympathy.

But Lovejoy was determined to have his say. He moved away from the group, standing alone like he was used to. Even Brighid knew to let him be as he handed her his cane and left her side.

"Stop your tantrums, Caledon. You know full well who I am. I'm the man your father hired to make sure you got home safely after your rich boy shenanigans. You're an overgrown child with more money than sense. The times I had to bite my tongue and look the other way. I'd have had more success with a genuine child."

Cal spluttered angrily. "You have no right to speak to me that way!"

"I have every right," said Lovejoy. "I gave up years of my life for you."

"It was your _job_ ," Cal spat.

"It was imprisonment," said Lovejoy. "Had I known from the start what it would entail, I'd have said no."

"Of course you would. You'd have turned away a generous salary _and_ a gold plated pension."

"I _have_ turned them away," said Lovejoy. "I am no longer beholden to you _or_ your father. But before we part company for good, I want you to know that you cannot go through life treating people the way you do. You're still young, Caledon. You still have time. Don't end up like me, forced to change or grow old alone. Do something with your life while you have the chance. I promise you, it doesn't take much. It's not impossible. You're a Hockley by name, but you don't have to be like your father. Snap those chains while you can."

A thousand emotions flickered across Cal's face. His eyes darted from Rose to Jack to Lovejoy and back again.

"You three escaped together, didn't you? After I sent you to the dining room."

"Yes," said his former valet. "I couldn't let them die. I certainly couldn't shoot them. You could say I went chasing after the Heart of the Ocean and discovered my own heart instead." Lovejoy grimaced. "As sentimental and soppy as that sounds." He looked for all the world as if he couldn't believe what he'd just said.

Molly Brown spoke up. "There's always hope, Mr. Hockley. Look what we all came through. Hundreds didn't."

"Despite what happened the other evening, I don't hate you. I'm not your enemy," Lovejoy continued. "Let us land at New York with a clean slate." He put his hand out towards Cal, who stared at it in disbelief.

"You want to shake my hand after nearly throwing me overboard?"

Lovejoy smiled. "Yes."

Everyone in the group was looking at Cal. He studied their faces in turn. None of them seemed angry, only apprehensive. The Dawson boy was holding Rose's hand tightly. The boy's face was grim but surprisingly not hostile. And Rose... Rose just looked sad.

Caledon took a deep breath. He stepped forward and grasped Lovejoy's hand with all the strength he could muster. The handshake was brief but conciliatory. It wasn't absolute forgiveness, but it was better than nothing. A start.

Lovejoy knew what it had taken for Cal to shake his hand. He was relieved, but kept it to himself. He didn't want any sort of victory to register on his face- that would overturn everything and put them right back to square one.

"Thank you," he said, softly.

"You're welcome," said Caledon, equally quietly.

Molly Brown, sensing the tension, clapped her hands together and pretended to be oblivious. "Well, now that that's settled, why don't we all retire for something to eat and drink?"

The mood of the entire group changed, just as she had intended. Relief washed over everyone. No one was going to create a scene in front of hundreds of passengers, survivors and crew as Carpathia nosed closer to land. Their journey was coming to an end, both physically and metaphorically.

Ruth, Caledon and Molly went back to First Class with Molly promising to secure permission for the Dawsons and Lovejoys to join them. After hugging them all, Molly Brown disappeared into the ship with a nod and a wink.

Jack, Rose, Lovejoy and Brighid went to the guardrail to look out over the ocean as the grey streak on the horizon grew peaks and troughs and became buildings and statues.

Brighid nestled against Lovejoy and he put his arm around her without thinking about it. She felt _right_ , her thin frame molded against his, as though taking up the space that was always meant for her. He kissed the top of her windswept hair. He breathed the scent of her, would never forget the tang of salt on her skin. In time, even the memories of Titanic would become 'the moment that we met'.

He looked over at Rose and Jack. He caught Rose's eye. She smiled at him. He smiled back.

"You've come a long way, Mr. Lovejoy," she said.

"Thanks to you, Miss Rose," he replied. "That night changed everything." He pulled Brighid closer, sheltering her protectively against his chest, relishing the feel of her arms inside his jacket, wrapped around his torso.

New York drew closer. The deck filled with people. The mood of Carpathia was one of relief, hope, and joy tinged with sadness. There were people who would never see the shore. But for one day, they'd have lived to see the future. Now they rested on the ocean bed in the spiritual home where everyone was destined to end up, sooner or later.

"I don't know about you, but I could murder a cup of tea," said Brighid, her eyes twinkling at Lovejoy. "A First Class cup of tea!"

"Me too," said Jack with a grin. "We showed Rose and Lovejoy how to party, now it's their turn to show us!"

The Four Musketeers, as they'd dubbed themselves, left the guardrail, their places swiftly taken up by other survivors eager for a glimpse of land. They ascended the gangway to second class, then up another deck to first. No one blocked them or stood in their way. And while Cal wasn't exactly welcoming to Jack Dawson, he behaved like a gentleman who had come to the realization that he wasn't the centre of the universe.

As for Lovejoy, he was content to stay on the sidelines with Brighid while she gradually got used to the hum and bustle of the upper classes. His heart swelled with pride when she appeared to be accepted by all, and was able to display her natural grace and poise. Far from being a slattern or a trollop, she was more of a lady than anyone he had ever met; and when she returned to him after a bout of introductions led by Molly Brown, he swept her into his arms and kissed her on the lips without a single care for who might be watching.

"Mr. Lovejoy!" she exclaimed, delighted and breathless. "Control yourself!"

"Never, my love," he replied with a gusty laugh, embracing her tightly. "Never again!"

THE END


End file.
